


Tempered Melancholy

by blueincandescence



Series: Law of Life [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Action, Angst, F/M, X2: X-Men United (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-08
Updated: 2006-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueincandescence/pseuds/blueincandescence
Summary: In the span of two birthdays, Rogue has to cope with a significant changes in her mutation, Logan's departure from the Mansion, and the passing of the Mutant Registration Act.





	1. A Touch Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> Part Two  
> “Tempered Melancholy”
> 
> “All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,  
> for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;  
> we must die to one life before we can enter another.”  
> – Anatole France –

Once I got passed the whole kid party, piñata, streamers, and balloons phase, my birthdays no longer seemed like such a big deal. When I turned eleven, twelve, and thirteen my mom had to force me to invite the girls in my neighborhood over for sleepovers. Our community was tight knit so, out of politeness, all of them came unless they had valid excuses not to. The moms crowded into my kitchen and made margaritas while us girls set up our sleeping bags in the living room. There were usually around sixteen of us there, and everyone wanted a spot next to Claire Lawson because she had all the best nail polish and knew how to French braid. She stole my thunder every year, but I pretended not to care. I told everyone my mom’s braids were neater, and my best friend, Natalie Casstevens, always kept me entertained.

For my fourteenth birthday, my mom took me and Natalie to see our favorite singer at the time, Kenny Chesney, in concert. That started a new tradition, which lasted two years longer. Our taste in music changed as often as Natalie’s hair color. We went from country to emo to screaming our hearts out at the AC/DC reunion tour that came to the Mississippi Coast Coliseum when I was sixteen. That concert almost made up for the fact that, while I had gotten my license, I hadn’t gotten a car. If the people at the city council had had any decency, they would’ve waited until after my birthday to hike up the already high Meridian property taxes.

My memories of my seventeenth birthday aren’t fond ones. David had been out of the hospital for a week and, for obvious reasons, he hadn’t asked to see me. I’d thought that if I went to see him I could show him how sorry I was in a way that notes and flowers couldn’t convey. I’d felt too guilty to celebrate my birthday without setting things right with him first, so that morning I got up early and headed over to his house. Nervously, I rang his doorbell. My heart was slamming in my chest when his dad finally opened the door. Peering around him, I saw David sitting at his kitchen table with his mom. He stopped buttering his toast and just stared at me. His mom looked horrified. David’s dad glanced back at his wife and son. “I think you’d better go,” he’d told me, not letting me speak.

“Wait. Please, let me apologize. I just want – ”

The door was shut in my face before I could finish. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t meant to hurt David. He’d been my friend. Didn’t I deserve forgiveness? They weren’t even giving me a chance.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I’d shrilled at the top of my lungs, kicking the screen door in frustration. From next door, Pastor Nash gaped at me, half bent over to pick up his newspaper. I kicked David’s screen door again, angry because I’d made a public spectacle of myself. I was on the verge of tears as I sprinted diagonally across the tree-lined street back to my house. I hated to cry, though I did it often enough that I almost came to enjoy it.

Since seventeen was the worst, it was no surprise that my next birthday was a much happier occasion. Bobby, sweetheart that he was, froze a patch of grass in a remote part of the park and we spent a charming September afternoon sliding around, falling into each other’s arms. We might’ve stayed out there until dark had John not decided it would be funny to melt the ice out from under us. Before we knew it, Bobby and I were kneeling in a wide puddle of mud. I didn’t shriek or complain; I threw a watery clump of mud right at John’s face. He was shocked at my audacity. I think it was the first time he actually respected me as a person, instead of a treating me as an abstract sex object. After the mud-ball fight that had ensued, we sprayed each other off with a hose, and then the three of us slogged back inside, weak with laughter. My eighteenth birthday hadn’t fallen on an election year and I didn’t win the lottery, but it was a memorable day nonetheless.

The only thing was, I half-expected Logan to come home from his post-Dr. Grey, pre-teaching-agreement trip just because it was my birthday. Not that he had anyway of knowing that, since I’d never told him. I’d just hoped that maybe he would sense it or fate would bring us together or something. The night before, I hadn’t been able to sleep because I was too busy vividly fantasizing about the way he would look when he swept me into his muscular arms and whispered romantically in my ear that he’d always loved me and had just been biding his time in Canada until I was officially an adult. That particular fantasy usually ended in a passionate kiss and eventual wedding bells.

Needless to say, my highly active imagination was in no way grounded in reality. When he had finally returned, a month later, our reunion had been incredibly anticlimactic. I’d hugged him loosely and made an attempt at banter, trying not to betray the full extent of my joy at his return. Logan had seen right through that, just like he must have when we’d gone through the same ritual after his first return. He might not have been the most emotionally sensitive guy in the world, but he’d had enough experience with fawning to recognize that was just what I was doing. Not that it mattered to him.

My nineteenth birthday passed without much notice. I did get a few presents and lots of hugs, though, and to celebrate, I went bowling with Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Peter Rasputin, and Julian Keller. It wasn’t anything we didn’t do on a regular basis, but it was still fun. Keller and I were becoming pretty close as we were the odd men out since Jubilee and Peter were dating and Bobby and Kitty were pointedly not dating while doing all the flirty things couples do. To be honest, I couldn’t help being a little envious. Not just of Kitty, but of the touching thing in general.

A person can’t completely transcend jealousy. It’s innate.

All I could do was not let it get to me. Keller helped out a lot with that. His affinity for practical jokes combined with his marginal telekinetic ability kept me laughing too hard to fall into the trap of resentment. When we bowled, I always made sure he was on my team so he could give my ball a helpful nudge when I needed it. I bowled my first perfect game thanks to him. The lane manager gave me a certificate and everything, which went along nicely with the free pizza I got in honor of my birthday.

Later, Logan took me out for ice cream and a joy ride on Cyclops’s bike, which he’d been teaching me to drive. I’d relished the feel of his arms wrapped securely around my waist. That had been the highlight of my day.

It’s hard to judge time when looking back, but nineteen seemed to come and go in an instant. A lot of things happened that year, but they were all repetitive. Finals and midterms, grueling training sessions that left my back aching and my head ringing, hanging out in Bobby’s room with the gang, having intense discussions about the meaning of life with Kurt, watching action movies and cop shows on the couch in the teacher’s lounge with Logan. Thus was my life.

Meanwhile, mutants attacked non-mutants, non-mutants attacked mutants, mutants attacked mutants – the only way to keep track of the bad guys was to remember what we stood for. We were the good guys, fighting for peace, bogged down in hate. Crime was increasing everyday all across the nation. Conservatives blamed mutants; liberals blamed societal conditions. Neither side did anything about it. Even as they rallied for their cause, it was as if they secretly hoped nothing would come of it. Very few government officials had the nerve to make a move for fear of everything blowing up in their faces.

They kept on plugging down the straight and narrow. They went home to their significant others or shacked up with their secretaries as they’d always done, knowing full well that their blissfully normal lives could shatter at any moment.


	2. A Touch Too Much

President McKenna was a calming presence during the turmoil. He assured the American people that they were safe in a way that no one else could. “Wait it out,” was his message in so many words. “Go about your business in blissful ignorance, pretend like nothing is wrong. I’ll take care of you.” That’s what most people wanted to hear. Despite what the news depicted, really stanch anti-mutant protestors were few and far in between. A lot of people showed up to wave their signs every once in a while, and they complained about the mutant problem to anyone who’d listen, but that’s pretty much where it ended. No one legitimate had stepped up to organize their idle hate into action.   
  
In that area, the Brotherhood had the advantage. Magneto’s skill at manipulating the minds of impressionable mutants was almost as adept as his finesse in handling metal. His following grew steadily as he moved from city to city. He was a fugitive at large, yet he wasn’t running from anybody. No prison cell could hold him and the only person powerful enough to kill him wouldn’t. Professor Xavier always knew where he was, though, and what he was up to. The few moves Magneto made were designed specifically to test us and always ended in stalemates. Mostly, he bided his time and held rallies.   
  
The Harlem rally that took place the day of my twentieth birthday was the largest yet. There were close to a hundred mutants gathered into the dimly lit warehouse basement, nearly every one of them teenagers. Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Peter, Keller, and I didn’t look at all out of place fanned out among them. Not that we were worried about being spotted. It was just easier to observe if we remained inconspicuous. I lingered in the back, keeping a watchful eye on the others. Besides Bobby, they weren’t officially X-Men yet. I felt it was my responsibility to look out for them even though each one of them had powers greater than mine.   
  
I scanned the crowd, noting that Professor Xavier was right. Magneto did appeal most to those whose mutations had manifested in the physical. Predictably, they were the ones who responded loudest when the speaker’s heated declarations grew aggressive. I recognized the speaker from one of our skirmishes a few weeks back. He looked to be only a little older than me. The manner in which he spoke gave me the impression that he was well educated, possibly with a background in political science. His phrasing was carefully constructed to make him seem at once one of the crowd and omnipotent. His long legs ate up the stage as he paced, microphone in hand. He nodded as the crowd clapped and shouted out their agreement to his last point.  
  
“Yes, yes people. We are all one. But let me take a moment to address all my brothers and sisters of color here tonight. It’s been fifty years since your grandparents and my grandparents fought to give our mothers and fathers freedom in this land of liberty. Fifty years ago, they thought they’d won. Won what? Nothing’s changed. We might be free but are we treated as equals? That’s right. No! We are not equal in the eyes of those in power and we never will be. Just like they will never see we mutants as equals. But don’t you worry yourselves about them. They will one day be judged. Judged twice, in fact. Once by us in this earthly plane and once more by the Lord God Almighty. And He will find them wanting!”   
  
Boisterous cheers echoed on the concrete walls. I found it incredibly ironic that both sides exploited the idea of an angry God in their arguments against one another. When had the just and caring God Kurt had taught me to love so much gone out of style?  
  
“Enjoying the show?” My head swiveled around swiftly. John smirked, taking pleasure in the fact that he’d been able to startle me. “Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior.”  
  
Worry had never even registered with me. I was too surprised. I’d met John in confrontation multiple times, but this was the first time we’d been on the verge of conversation that extended beyond the catchphrase, “Burn, bitch.” Without the enraged gleam in his eyes, he looked unsettlingly normal. His smirk was almost friendly.  
  
Guilt unfurled in my stomach. Why hadn’t we done more to save him? He’d chosen his own path, true, but if it had been me I know that Logan at least would’ve done everything he could to bring me back. We’d let John go with barely a murmur of protest. We hadn’t always gotten along, but he’d been my friend. I should’ve fought for him.  
  
“So when’d that happen,” John asked, inclining his head toward where Bobby and Kitty stood facing the stage. They were holding hands.  
  
“While ago. It’s been a year and, what, three or four months since we broke up.”  
  
The corners of John’s lips turned down in surprise. “You two were practically married.”  
  
“Never consummated. Poison skin and all.”  
  
“You still got that?”  
  
“Touch me and find out,” I challenged.  
  
After a moment, we both looked away, grinning. I cleared my throat, willing myself to keep in mind that John was the enemy and I was here for a purpose. I turned my attention back to the speaker.   
  
“Everyone talks about how different the philosophies of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X were. We’re taught in school that MLK was a hero and Malcolm X was a dangerous rabble-rouser. But what do those men have in common? I’ll tell you what. They’re both dead. Not just dead, slain. It doesn’t matter to the enemy if you come in peace or war. Given the chance, they will eradicate every single one of us. Black, brown, white, blue, green, yellow – it doesn’t matter to them. All they see when they look at us is a freak. The choice is ours. Should we lay down and get trampled, or use our God-give weapons and fight?”  
  
“Fight!” was the overwhelming response.  
  
“Happy birthday,” John told me when the noise died down a little, apropos of nothing.  
  
“What? Oh.” He wasn’t playing fair. We were supposed to be acting cold and detached from one another. It simplified things. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to be rude. “Thanks. Yours was in July, right?”  
  
“Yep. I’m sure my gift just got lost in the mail.”  
  
Playing along, I replied, “I don’t know what could’ve happened to it. I used FedEx and everything.”  
  
“Overnight delivery?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Eh, that’s all right. It was probably a crappy present anyway. What should I get you?”  
  
“How about you stop setting me on fire?”  
  
“Maybe if you weren’t always shooting at me, I would.”  
  
“They’re tranquillizer darts, you big baby. And it’s my job.”  
  
“Listen to that dedication. Such commitment is inspiring. You’re even working on your birthday.”  
  
“Actually, it was to my advantage. We did a little sightseeing before we came here. I got over my Statue of Liberty-phobia. I’m glad they were able to rebuild the torch.”  
  
“That’s right. You almost didn’t make it eighteen, never mind twenty. How’s it feel?”  
  
“Same old. You?”  
  
John snorted, his expression sullen. “Feels like fucking ninety.”   
  
“Sometimes,” I agreed quietly. We were standing close enough together that he could still hear me.  
  
“Oh? Everything’s not kitty cats and rainbows over in the gumdrop land of the just and righteous?”  
  
“We have just as many enemies as you do.”  
  
“Did you hear the governor of Mississippi wants to ban mutants from voting in the next election? Not that it’s going to be much of a fight. McKenna’s going to get his second term, no doubt. But doesn’t it piss you off that your home state wants to take away your rights?”  
  
“Can’t be done. Anonymity is a mutant’s first defense,” I paraphrased the Professor.  
  
Inclining his head toward a group of obvious mutants standing in front of us, John said, “Not everyone has that luxury. And how long do you think the rest of us will have even that much? Besides, the intent is what counts.”  
  
He had me there, though I had to point out, “You know, you’re not helping anything by making non-mutants afraid of us.”  
  
“They should be afraid. We have the power. I like to be the one to remind them of that.”  
  
“Yeah, I saw you on the news the other night. What is it with you and cops?”  
  
“They were infringing on my right for peaceful protest. I had to retaliate. It’s the American way.”  
  
“Oh, yes, plotting to overthrow the government is so very peaceful. That’s called treason and it’s illegal. You should be in jail…What’s going on?” A hearty applause had broken out as the normal lighting was replaced by pulsating strobe lights. People clustered in groups to dance to the heavy beat of the music now pumping out of the speakers.  
  
“No better way to get them to come back than giving them free alcohol and a party. My idea.”  
  
“Isn’t Magneto going to offer any words of wisdom to his flock?” I hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him or Mystique yet.  
  
“Not tonight. Looks like Ricochet did his job.”   
  
“You don’t exactly sound thrilled.”  
  
Ignoring that, John grinned at me wickedly. “Care for a dance with the devil?”  
  
“No. Thank you,” I replied drolly. “What is this, anyway? They’ve repeated the word ‘freak’ about a hundred times and song’s barely started.”  
  
“Hey, if you can’t change what you are, embrace it. But I think the song’s about sex anyway.”  
  
Ricochet appeared out of the crowd to greet John warmly and slap him on the back. “Pyro, my man. How’d you like the speech?”  
  
John looked at him with the utmost distaste. “It’s the same one you always give.”  
  
“But the crowd, man. The crowd was hot. Am I right?” he asked, glancing in my direction. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Listen, Pyro, I gotta talk to you for a minute. Serious business. You mind excusing us, honey? Come on, let’s go talk outside.”  
  
John did not look pleased with the situation. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be back, Rogue. Save me a dance.” Bastard actually attempted to grab my ass. I knocked his hand away indigently.   
  
Ricochet finally recognized me. He fixed me with a penetrating look. “What’s she doing here?”  
  
“Just enjoying the show,” I responded coolly, glancing at John out the corner of my eye.  
  
“Forget about her. She’s not gonna do anything. Let’s go,” he said, pushing Ricochet toward the backdoor that led up into the alley.   
  
They were discussing serious business, huh? That sounded like something worth eavesdropping on. Maybe then we’d have something to report to Professor Xavier besides, “Giant kegger.” I looked around for Kitty, but she was nowhere to be found. Not wanting to miss anything, I decided to go myself.   
  
Crouching on the stairs, I carefully inched open the thick door and peered through the crack. John and Ricochet both turned to look at me, alerted by the music’s increase in volume. Well, no one had ever accused me of being stealthy. Luckily, that particular deficiency didn’t matter because I spotted the reason for the serious talk in the palm of Ricochet’s right hand.   
  
Ricochet and John jumped back when I threw open the door. Wasting no time, Ricochet lunged at John, knife ready. Knowing from painful experience that any blow I landed on Ricochet would come back double on me, I pushed John out of the way instead of attacking Ricochet outright.   
  
Ricochet missed John’s ribcage but caught me in my upper arm. The feel of steel passing through sinew was excruciating.   
  
Letting out an angry, guttural yell, I lashed out. The toe of my shoe caught Ricochet right between the legs. Seeing the comic, astonished anguish on his face was worth the pain of getting thrown backwards into the uneven brick wall.   
  
Ricochet hastily limped out of the alley, clutching himself and moaning loudly.   
  
Dizzy but sadistically satisfied that I’d found his Achilles’ heel, I used the wall to get to my feet. “Do me a favor,” I told John, closing my eyes tightly. “Pull the knife out.”  
  
“I’m not gonna – ”  
  
“Do it. And make it fast.”   
  
I almost cracked my teeth trying not to scream, but I managed to keep my dignity. Hissing in short breaths, I pulled up my sleeve to watch my skin knit together over the wound. I could feel the muscle tissue doing the same inside my arm. The dull ache left behind was only a partial relief.  
  
“How’d you do that?” John asked, watching me wipe away my blood.  
  
“I trained with Logan yesterday. I was hoping his power had stuck around.”  
  
John dropped the bloody knife and kicked it away from us. “Good thing it did.”   
  
“Yeah. I was pissed earlier, though. I took out my earrings to change them – totally not paying attention – and the holes closed up. I’m going to have to get them all re-pierced once it wears off. Five piercing at once.”   
  
“Life’s a bitch.”  
  
“Truly. Although, I will say, thank God his heightened senses never stick around. The hearing thing gives me a headache and don’t even get me started on the nose thing. It’s like smelling in Technicolor. Not fun.”  
  
“Whatever you say.” John reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”   
  
“I’m good,” I declined.  
  
Using the shark lighter I remembered so well, he lit a cigarette for himself and leaned against the wall, one leg bent at the knee. John always did think he was James Dean incarnate.  
  
“So, what was all that about?” I wanted to know.  
  
He blew out a long stream of smoke. “Nothing much. I’m top dog, next to Mystique. Ricochet wants that spot for himself. Never thought he’d have the balls to actually do anything about it.” John cast me an appreciative glance. “Probably doesn’t anymore.”  
  
I shook my head in disgust. “What kind of Brotherhood is this if you can’t even trust your own teammates?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve never been much for team playing,” he sniffed arrogantly. Mockingly, he added, “I’m more of the rogue type.”  
  
I sighed. “Well, if you ever get tired of the hyenas, you know where to go.”  
  
“Not gonna happen.”  
  
“Just the same,” I shrugged.  
  
“Look, I know you saved my life and all, but that doesn’t entitle you to any say in it.”  
  
The backdoor to the warehouse opened and Bobby stepped out. “There you are.” A frown settled on his face when he saw who I was with. “John.”  
  
“Nice to see you, too, pal.”  
  
“Come on, Rogue,” Bobby said warily. “We’ve got to get back.”  
  
“Is that the kind of welcome home I can expect if I ever have a change of heart?” John asked me.  
  
I pushed myself off the wall. “I don’t know. You haven’t had one yet. I’ll see you later.”  
  
“You will. Just don’t expect me to pull any punches.”  
  
Suddenly overwhelmingly tired, I replied dully, “Me either.”


	3. Let Me Put My Love Into You

Logan’s fingers were touching my left breast. There was nothing overt about it; from the way we were lounging it could’ve been an accident.

His hand, originally cupped around my upper arm, had slipped. Without moving my head, I raised my eyes to his scruffy, resolute profile to check for any signs of awareness. He was focused on the TV, seemingly engrossed in the complex and intricate plot of Die Hard. I knew he had to have been able to feel my open stare, yet he never once glanced over. Did that mean his hand had slipped on purpose? My heart rate began to accelerate at the thought. Logan heard it or felt it against his ribcage or both because he shifted uncomfortably and removed his arm from my shoulders. I lifted the side of my face from his warm cotton shirt. I was so confused.  
  
He went out of his way to present himself as this essentially one-dimensional tough guy, the kind of guy who saw something he wanted and took it. Logically, if he wanted me, then he’d make a move. He hadn’t and it didn’t seem likely that he ever would.

So what was with this faux-inadvertent cop-a-feel game he was playing? He’d been doing it for months. It had started off with looks, and it hadn’t gotten much further than what it was now. Was it for my benefit? He let me get away with a friendly cuddle now and then, but I hardly believed that he thought faking a physical interest in me would make me feel any better. There was obviously something more going on there. Something even he didn’t fully recognize or else I probably would’ve felt it when he touched me while working on my control. The whole situation was seriously screwing up my balance.  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan cleared his throat loudly. “Is this movie almost over?”  
  
“We don’t have to finish it if you’re tired,” I responded, a little petulantly.  
  
He shrugged. “I think you should get your rest. We’re gonna start our regular training again tomorrow.”  
  
“Why would you want to do that? I’m not supposed to absorb your power again until it goes away from last time. Dr. McCoy needs to see how long lasts.”  
  
“It’s been over a week.”  
  
“I know. And the longest it’s ever lasted before is a day. Don’t you want to know why?”  
  
“It’s not gonna matter much if it suddenly runs out in the middle of a fight.”  
  
“Give me some credit, here. I’m not going to take any unnecessary risks by relying on you or your power to heal me.” Wisely, I hadn’t told him about the little incident with Ricochet. Professor Xavier was the only one who knew about that. “Besides,” I said, “We both know that we’re not getting anywhere with my control anymore. We should concentrate on my hand-to-hand combat.” I figured that maybe if I got good enough at that, Logan wouldn’t be breathing down my neck at every minor scuffle.  
  
“Look, I’m your trainer. And I say that we have been making progress. I would know.”  
  
“I don’t care. You’ll ruin the experiment.”  
  
“You’re not an experiment,” he snapped.  
  
I tossed my hair back haughtily. “You’re not touching me.”  
  
Never one to be shown up, Logan grabbed me by the arm, his hand in direct contact with the bare skin peaking out between the top of my glove and the sleeve of my t-shirt. I narrowed my eyes in concentration, thinking to give him a jolt by abruptly drawing a fair amount of energy from his life-force. Nothing happened. I mean nothing. His bare skin was touching my bare skin and nothing was happening.

We gawked at the place where we touched, the petty hostility between us giving in favor of sheer wonder. An eerie, lightheaded sensation overtook me as I watched him slowly slide the warm pads of his fingers down the length of my arm, taking off my glove in the process. Cautiously, he wrapped his hand around my wrist and squeezed. No wave of power, no pain. Just touch. Shakily, I took off my other glove with my teeth. I hardly recognized the trembling, pale hand I placed on top of Logan’s as my own. His breath caught.  
  
Something in my mind snapped.  
  
Faster than even he could react, I swung my leg over his torso so that my butt was planted directly on lap. In the same fluid movement, I took his face in the palms of my hands and pressed my lips against his, a wave of near-franticness overtaking us both. After years of playing second fiddle to a ghost and one-night stands, I finally had his complete and unwavering attention. It was exhilarating. His mouth, his hands…  
  
“I think we should see the Professor.”  
  
I jerked my gaze from where my hand rested on Logan’s to his sober hazel eyes. I blinked away my fantasy, acutely disappointed that I’d missed my window of opportunity. I could’ve done it; I could’ve jumped him. I still wanted to. I licked my bottom lip, wondering if I was as agile in real life. About ready to find out, a quick image of a not-so receptive Logan dumping my ass onto the floor in disgust chilled my raging hormones. It finally sunk in that his main concern was finding out how this was possible instead of milking it for all it was worth.  
  
Logan stood up, letting go of my wrist. “Let’s go.”  
  
Picking up my discarded gloves and stuffing them in the pocket of my jeans, I followed numbly.  
  
For the past two – almost three – years of my life, all I’d dreamt about was being able to touch Logan. Why had I let doubt mess up my perfect kiss? Regret was a far worse fate than embarrassment. I knew that. Still, I’d hesitated. Now I was probably going to spend the rest of the night hooked up to machines in the med lab with only Dr. McCoy as company. Logan had been so indignant about people treating me as an experiment before; where had those qualms gone? Didn’t he understand that this was a momentary opportunity? It was going to wear off. I was so sure of that fact, I felt like crying.  
  
I barely noticed that we’d headed to the stairs instead of straight to Professor Xavier’s office. Logan led me down a corridor I’d never been down before. He stopped at a thick, oak door where he gave a perfunctory knock, then walked right in. Professor Xavier and Cyclops looked up from a chessboard. Already caught up on all he needed to know, the Professor was intrigued. Cyclops was visibly annoyed. I pretended to be interested in the red and gold wallpaper, which decorated what I concluded was Professor Xavier’s own personal sitting room.  
  
Professor Xavier pushed himself away from the chess table to face Logan and me. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket or even a tie. That surprised me for some reason. It occurred to me that wearing suits all the time was probably as confining as constantly wearing gloves. “Perhaps we should go to the med lab and have a word with Dr. McCoy.”  
  
I knew it. Dr. McCoy was going to poke and prod my precious seconds away. Cyclops gave me a strange stare as we left the room. What’re you looking at? I thought rudely. Interrupting his chess game sure hadn’t been my idea. He could thank Logan for that one.  
  
Dr. McCoy was waiting for us in the hallway of the lower levels when we came out of the elevator. Uneasily crossing my bare arms behind my back, I kept close to Logan as Dr. McCoy ushered us into the med lab. The large, blue-furred “beast” – who, not too long ago, had been a thin, brown-haired man – was eager to analyze the hiccup in my mutation. Dutifully, I held out my hand so he could take the skin samples he needed. The scrape healed quickly.  
  
“Just as I thought,” he announced after a minute of peering into a microscope. “Nothing has changed.”  
  
I sat down heavily on one of the infirmary beds. I couldn’t remember ever having been so angry at Logan.  
  
Not buying Dr. McCoy’s analysis, Logan grabbed my naked wrist and held it up for the others to see. “Something’s changed.” Cyclops and I were the only ones surprised. Logan dropped my arm and didn’t look at me.  
  
“Oh, of course it has,” Dr. McCoy blinked. “Just not with Rogue. The change is with you.”  
  
Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Me.”  
  
“Yes. For example. Cyclops, would you be so…Well, no, I suppose that wouldn’t be wise.”  
  
“I don’t think, in this case, a demonstration is unnecessary,” Professor Xavier opined.  
  
An explanation would be nice, though, I thought. The shock was making me derisive.  
  
“Perhaps you should explain further,” the Professor told Dr. McCoy.  
  
“It’s simple, really,” Dr. McCoy answered, his large hands animated. “Over the past few months, Logan’s extraordinary immune system has become resistant to the affects of the toxin in Rogue’s skin. I deduced that that was the reason it became so much less painful for Logan when Rogue absorbed his power.”  
  
“I thought it was because I was gaining control,” I replied, puzzled.  
  
“Oh, certainly, that happened as well, as made evident when you were able to use Quicksilver’s speed against him without gaining any of his memories or personality traits. But, with Logan, since he adapted to your skin, we saw that he was no longer incapacitated by your touch.”  
  
“It still hurt him.”  
  
“Yes, but he could’ve fought back at anytime. Not just at the beginning. I meant to test that, but I’ve been preoccupied with a serum I’m working on.” His eyes flickered over to Cyclops momentarily before he continued, “The plateau in your training that you hit was a result of that immunity.”  
  
“That was a long time ago,” Logan pointed out. He was standing with his weight shifted away from me, his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“And in that time Rogue has been able draw huge amounts of energy from you in increasingly longer sittings. It should’ve killed you, but, due to a number of dynamics like your immunity to her toxin and your healing capabilities, it didn’t. Instead, she’s absorbed your powers completely. Perhaps permanently. We can’t really be sure of that, but it seems likely. Her body is satisfied with the near-immortality it has taken from you. An oversupply would be simply unnecessary.”  
  
I titled my head forward so that my hair would hide my face. The detached part of me struggled against the hope that Dr. McCoy’s longwinded explanation had roused. Permanent was forever. From now on, it was safe for me to touch Logan. In point of fact, I had been able to touch Logan for over a week, I just hadn’t realized it. I couldn’t quite grasp the alien concept. It was too big.  
  
“What about other people?” Logan was asking.  
  
I looked up at him. Who cared about other people?  
  
Dr. McCoy folded his hands in front of him. “I’m afraid not.”  
  
In an attempt to appear adequately disappointed, I looked down at my bare hands. Obviously, that was the catch. There had to be a catch or else it would’ve been too good to be true and I wouldn’t have trusted it. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve been sorely disappointed. But it was Logan so I was okay with it. Forget science. This was a made-to-order miracle. Thank you God, I thought fervently.  
  
There was, however, always room for doubt. “So we don’t really know if this will…if it’ll last,” the pessimist in me remarked.  
  
“Well, as I said, we can’t know. But it does seem likely,” Dr. McCoy replied.  
  
Making up my mind to be satisfied, I peaked over at Logan to see what he thought about that. I was hit by an abrupt jolt. His complete attention was focused on me. Intensely focused. Color crept into my cheeks.  
  
Logan turned and left. “Training tomorrow. Get some sleep,” was all he said as walked away.  
  
I watched him walk out. Cyclops, Dr. McCoy, and the Professor watched me watch him walk out. There really wasn’t anything else left to be said, aside from a feeble promise from Dr. McCoy to keep on testing my skin samples in various ways. I nodded my thanks. The whole situation was very uncomfortable for me, so I excused myself as soon as possible.  
  
As much as I had to think about, my mind was curiously blank as I stepped into the empty elevator. The butterflies in my stomach were doing the thinking for me. They were making me twitchy and uncomfortable.  
  
The elevator paused on the first floor and opened its doors. I scooted myself into the back right side corner to make room. It was eleven-o-five, the tail end of the second lights-out rush of the night. I was glad that I didn’t have classes the next day. I could probably sleep in until noon. I glanced up at the stragglers as they filed in. Artie, Rett, Streak, Nicole, and Flea. Fantastic. Thankfully, they ignored me, too engaged in their argument about what their band should be called.  
  
“Mutant Boyz is not a bad name,” Streak contended, taking of his glasses to polish them.  
  
“No, you’re right. It’s a horrible name,” Flea retorted.  
  
“Well, what’s your great idea, then?”  
  
Flea put his arm around the reedy, blond-haired girl. “I told you. Let our brilliant song writer handle it.”  
  
Streak, Artie, and Rett didn’t look exactly convinced.  
  
“I’ll tell you what,” Nicole said, “I’ll come up with a list of names, but you guys can have the final say.”  
  
“That sounds good,” Rett put in. Artie nodded.  
  
“Okay,” Streak relented.  
  
The boys got off at their floor, leaving Nicole and me alone. She smiled at me politely. I gave a fleeting smile back. I could tell she was holding her tongue.  
  
“It’s complicated,” I told her.  
  
She turned her eyes to the floor. “Sorry. I can’t really help it.”  
  
“Yeah, I know what that’s like.”  
  
Once I got to my room, I threw my clothes in the direction of my hamper and headed for the shower.  
  
It’s complicated. What an oversimplification. So what if it was complicated? I still had to deal with it. I could be touched. By Logan. I’d wanted that for so long. It didn’t seem real, but it was. All the sweat and hard work I’d put in day after day for almost a year and half had paid off in a way I’d never allowed myself to believe was possible. Logan could touch me. Had touched me.

I closed my eyes under the hot spray of water, reliving the way the smooth, warm tips of his fingers had caressed my forearm, the moment his breath had caught, the heated way he’d looked at me in the med lab. I’d seen hints of that look before but never like that. We were on a whole new level, one of unexplored territory for me. Well, unexplored in the real world. The terrain was incredibly well mapped out in not-a-chance-in-hell-but-I’m-still-going-to-devote-unhealthy-amounts-of-time-dreaming-about-it world.  
  
But my fantasies, as well as they had served me in the past, were useless to me now. Nothing had happened as it should’ve. No declarations of love and noble intentions, no passionate kisses. He’d simply walked out on me. It was the direct opposite of everything I’d ever imagined him doing, which startled me into wondering exactly how far my dream Logan had strayed from the real Logan. More than I was comfortable admitting. Could I honestly see Logan getting weepy over my pristine white wedding dress? No. Did I really want him to? I thought about that one for a bit longer. Maybe not exactly weepy, but I wanted to him to think I was beautiful when we got –  
  
Married? Married. Logan. Who was I kidding? I turned off the shower, suddenly feeling a decade older. If I was going to have Logan it was going to be his way. I towel dried my long hair savagely, realizing that I was the one who was going to have to make the sacrifices.  
  
But then I thought, well, maybe I’d be better off just keeping the fantasy, if that was worth more to me than him. He was a grown man with his own distinct personality. I couldn’t magically transform him into some Prince Charming knock-off just because it’d be easier for me to have him that way. If easy was what I wanted I would’ve stayed with Bobby and learned to be creative. I’d blamed the fact that we’d barely gotten to first base on my mutation, but it was mostly by choice. Bobby just hadn’t done it for me.  
  
Flowery speeches and clean-shaven jaws be damned. I wanted Logan and his rough affection, his fits of despondency, and his surprising depth. I wanted his striking hazel eyes to always look at me with such intensity. I wanted his strong arms wrapped tightly around me. I wanted his skin, his hands, and his lips, and his love. And I wanted it now.

 


	4. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

Rashly, I headed straight for my dresser. I discarded my black nightgown because I didn’t want to risk the chance that it might remind him of the night we’d narrowly escaped the soldiers and, by extension, Dr. Grey’s death. My sewn up pink nightgown was my favorite but, well, there were strong memories attached to it, too. I had lots of flannel pajama pants but they weren’t exactly sexy. My fingers brushed satin. That was more like it.

The satin nightgown was white and formfitting, like a dress. It glided over my head easily, light as air, not quite reaching my knees. It was completely see-through, which explained why I’d never worn it before. That also explained why I’d bought it. I slipped on a good pair of white cotton underwear – they were the best I could do – and then moved to hover near my closed bedroom door. The butterflies were swarming again, this time with a flurry of excitement. What would happen if I just showed up at his door wearing nothing but this?  
  
The same nagging doubt that stopped me from kissing him earlier stopped me from going out into the hallway. He might slam the door in my face. Even if he did want me a little bit, it might not be enough. Or, worse, I might’ve been misreading the signals all this time. Seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was there. Wouldn’t be the first time. If I tried something and he wasn’t receptive, it might ruin what we had. On the other hand, maybe he was waiting for me to make the move. Or else the idea just hadn’t occurred to him, but he’d be okay with it if I brought it up…  
  
Ugh. Stupid.  
  
Throwing on a robe but not bothering to put on gloves because the sleeves were so long, I went out into the dimly lit hallway and went straight across into the elevator. What was I thinking? This was forever, I reminded myself. I didn’t need to rush things just because my panties were all in a bunch. I had to get my mind off of it.

Jones, a bowl of ice cream, and some educational programming were just what I needed. Tonight was the conclusion of the History Channel’s mini-series about Richard the Lionheart’s very torrid affair and angsty falling out with Philip Augustus of France. Didn’t want to miss that.  
  
Ice cream was the priority, though. When I wandered the school at night, ice cream was always the priority. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one.

Dressed in a pair of wonderfully tight-fitting blue jeans and a white beater, Logan was scooping out some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into a bowl. My favorite, and a definite gesture of welcome. A mostly-eaten sandwich and bottle of Dr. Pepper lie on the bar. That meant that, in the middle of eating, he’d heard me coming, anticipated that I wanted ice cream, gotten up, and fixed me a bowl. I didn’t care what anyone said, that man obviously loved me.  
  
“Thanks, Logan,” I said when he handed me my bowl.  
  
He did his typical shrug and grunt for, “You’re welcome.”  
  
I followed him around the bar to and took the seat directly next to his. I happened to glance up at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was only a little after twelve. “Usually the kitchen’s pretty crowded right about now,” I acknowledged. Midnight snacks were a common occurrence at the school. No one really minded as long as the students were quiet.  
  
“It was crowded,” Logan replied, eyebrow raised and lip quirked.  
  
I grinned back, shaking my head fondly at him. “You would be proud of scaring the children.”  
  
The other side of his mouth lifted up in what passed for a full-fledged grin in Logan’s book. Not a smirk or a sneer, a genuine smile that turned the color of his eyes into a soft, liquid green. And it was just for me. My heart skipped.

I’m in love with you, I thought distinctly, wishing I could just say it out loud and be done with it. I was a twenty year-old woman. I should’ve been able to say it. I only had courage enough for one thing, though, so, instead, I reached over and brushed my fingers on the back of his hand, which was resting on the blue-tiled counter. His fist clenched unexpectedly.  
  
I jerked my hand back, blurting, “I’m sorry.”  
  
He sniffed and rolled his neck, Logan for, “Forget about it.”  
  
Picking up my spoon again, I ate my ice cream without enjoyment. I was used to apologizing to Logan for touching him, but this was the only time I’d done so without having hurt him first. With my free hand, I used one fingernail to poke at the grout between the tiles.  
  
I watched with fascination as Logan took my hand in his. Gently, he rubbed his thumb across my knuckles, down along my veins. I opened my palm as he turned my hand, his thumb now tracing my lifelines. He lingered on my wrist. The jump of his pulse was perfectly in time with mine.  
  
Apparently satisfied with that, Logan let go of my hand to reach for his Dr. Pepper. Grateful but still disappointed, I went back to eating my ice cream in silence, shoulders hunched.  
  
“Sorry it was me,” he said quietly, almost under his breath.  
  
“There isn’t anyone else.”  
  
“Sorry for that, too.”  
  
I didn’t say anything. It was kind of his fault that there wasn’t anyone else, in a roundabout sort of way, but it was nothing he needed to apologize for. Though, possibly, he wasn’t apologizing so much as expressing his regret and pity all at the same time.

I glanced up at him to check, and was stunned to find open lust on his face. I followed his gaze down. My robe had fallen open, giving him a practically unhindered view of my chest.  
  
“You don’t look very sorry,” I observed. His eyes flicked up to mine. I mimicked his eyebrow raise as best as I could, throwing in a knowing smirk for good measure. When it came right down to it, Logan wasn’t that different than any of the teenage boys who’d attempted to look down my shirt.

That thought gave me an odd sort of daring, and, coupled with the definite knowledge that Logan did, in fact, want me, I was feeling pretty damned cocky. Eyeing him coyly, I licked the ice cream off my spoon, then off the corner of my mouth.  
  
After a moment, he looked away. “You don’t know what you’re doing, kid.”  
  
My spoon clanked on my bowl. “Oh.” Less insulted than mortified, I adopted an overly bland demeanor, saying, “I was just…It was good ice cream.” I reached over and poured the melted stuff in the sink, setting the bowl down along with it. Unable to even glance at him, I got up and headed for the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Wait,” he said.  
  
Stopping, I turned around with an unsuccessful smile on my face. “Yes?”  
  
Logan sighed, kneading the back of his neck. He lifted his arm in a helpless motion. “Goodnight.”  
  
“’Night,” I responded perkily, exiting quickly.  
  
I considered carrying out my earlier plan of watching the History Channel with Jones, but I wasn’t in the mood anymore. Poor Philip Augustus. Richard had been totally in the wrong. If some bastard had seduced me at sixteen and then turned around years later and selfishly renounced it as a mortal sin, I would’ve had him castrated.  
  
Not wanting to wait for the elevator, I took the stairs two at a time. The further away I got from Logan, the more pissed off I became. How could he say that I didn’t know what I was doing? I was a damn good tease. He could just ask Bobby. I rolled my eyes. Oh, sure, being a tease was certainly something to be proud of. Idiot.  
  
I ate up the distance to my door and shut it behind me. Shucking off my robe, I shoved myself under the covers. Nerves shot, face uncomfortably flushed, I stared hard at the ceiling, willing myself to calm down. I was not comforted by the knowledge that my little display down in the kitchen would never be brought up again. Logan and I were too good at faking normalcy. It was a big part of our problem.  
  
My eyes had drifted shut by the time I heard my doorknob turn. I knew it was Logan but didn’t move. I waited to see what he would do.  
  
“Rogue,” he murmured, coming further into my room. He lightly closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place. Working to steady my breathing, I feigned sleep so that he was forced to come closer until he was sitting on the edge of my bed. “Rogue,” he repeated, lightly brushing the hair away from my mouth.  
  
I lifted myself into a sitting position and flicked on the small lamp beside my bed. “Yeah?”  
  
His hand stayed on my cheek, rubbing it soothingly. The expression on his face was almost of pain.  
  
“Logan, what’s wrong?” I asked anxiously, skin tingling.  
  
“I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”  
  
Shrugging it off I said, “I’m not a little girl. I can handle some hurt feelings.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have to. Not from me. So, I’m sorry.”  
  
I smiled a little. “I didn’t expect an apology. I figured you’d drop it.”  
  
“This is too important to you. Touch. You should be able to touch me whenever you want.”  
  
I bit down hard on my tongue to stop myself from saying something implicit about invitations. Clearing my throat, I agreed. My breathing was shallow as I placed my bare hands on the warm skin stretched tight over his biceps.

Hastily, I slid my hands across his shoulders and up his neck. Before I lost my nerve, I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Light as it was, he kissed me back. For a long moment, our lips hovered mere inches apart.  
  
Just as I was about to go in for another kiss, Logan’s hand moved to cup the back of my head. I yielded willingly as he slowly drew my face closer to his. My eyes darted from his lips to his eyes, trying to commit every second of this to long-lasting memory. Our lips brushed again. Logan shifted closer to me, putting his other arm around my back so that my upper body was pressed against his. Opening my mouth for him, I lifted one hand to the nape of his neck and wrapped my other arm around his firm waist. He pulled his head back just as I was getting used to mimicking the movements of his tongue. Stroking my hair, he rested his bristly cheek on mine.  
  
“Damn it, I should go,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my temple.  
  
“Don’t,” I replied, knowing full well what would happen if he stayed and, worse, what would happen if I allowed him to leave.  
  
Logan loosened his hold and leaned back, still caressing my neck. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”  
  
I looked at him levelly. “Then why’d you lock the door?”  
  
He turned his head and grimaced, no answer for that. At least, no answer he wished to give. He didn’t want to take advantage of me, and I respected him for that. I just had to convince him he wasn’t.  
  
Raising my hands, I placed them under is chin and gently urged his face back toward mine. When he relented and opened his eyes, I said, “Logan, I want you to stay.” For my benefit as much as his, I added, “It’s okay. I’m in love with you.” Despite my overwhelming nervousness, I managed to pull off a reassuring smile.  
  
His expression wavered before settling on one of determination. Untangling himself from my grasp, he stood up and flipped the covers off of me in one fluid motion. I stared up at him wide-eyed, utterly aware that my nightgown hid nothing. Logan moved his eyes up my body. I could feel myself flush everywhere his gaze touched.

He watched my face intently while his hands moved down to unbuckle his belt. My muscles tensed and my stomach quivered. Tossing the belt aside, he slipped off his boots. Enthralled, I barely blinked as he undressed further, until he was standing before me clad in nothing but a pair of black briefs that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Kneeling on the bed, he bent over to clamp his mouth onto mine. I was lost to sensation after that. I hadn’t touched or been touched in so long, and never like this. Logan caressed me everywhere, and my hands roamed his body just as freely. I was trembling violently, almost spastically. It wasn’t particularly elegant, but that’s what Logan did to me. At once passionately demanding and heartbreakingly tender, he sent me spiraling through waves of agonized yearning and pure ecstasy.  
  
I let go of a lot – inhibition, reticence, fantasy, expectation – and everything left I gave to Logan. In return, I got the opportunity to feel like the only person of consequence in his whole life.  
  
And afterward, he gathered me into his muscular arms as he collapsed on his side. Lazily, he ran his fingers through my tousled hair and dropped kisses on any part of me that he could reach. Utterly content, I nestled in closer, his chest pushing against mine with each deep breath he took. The steady rhythm was incredibly soothing. I gave myself over to the comfort of his arms and my own fatigue as I let myself fall slowly into sleep.


	5. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

I had a horrifying dream that morning. Actually, it was more of an image. One of waking up next to Logan’s cold and lifeless corpse.

“Jesus Christ,” I hissed, pressing my forehead to his chest so that I could feel the heartbeat there for myself. I wasn’t fond of that particularly profanity, but my nightmare had certainly merited strong feelings. Before I could calm down, I had to remind myself over and over that as long as I still had his healing power it was safe to touch him, and even if I lost that he would still be able to break loose at any time. I wasn’t poisonous to him.

Blowing out a long breath, I tried to snuggle into a comfortable position but was too wired to fall back asleep. I pulled myself into a sitting position carefully so as not to disturb him. Awe was the predominate feeling I got when I looked at him, followed closely by pride. He was so gorgeous and so perfect, and he was sharing my bed. I, on the other hand, was uncombed and, well, sticky. I wanted my first post-coitus impression to be a good one, so I got up to go into the bathroom. I winced a little as I walked. I’d never been happier to be so sore in my life.

Not wanting to miss a moment, I made sure my shower was the quickest possible. Bushing my teeth while drying off proved to be difficult but manageable. I pulled out a brand-new toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and put it on the sink for Logan to use, and then took my morning pill with relish. The school was finally getting its money’s worth after all those years of taking it simply because everyone else was.

Logan was seemingly still sleeping when I crept out of the bathroom. I threw off my towel before I got under the covers and back into his arms.

“Mm,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re wet.”

“And you’re warm,” I replied blissfully. Pushing myself up on one elbow, I made no effort to hide my all-out grin. “Good morning.”

Logan didn’t say anything. There was tenseness behind his eyes that made my grin lose some of its wattage. He lifted his hand to play with my white bangs. Finally, he heaved a sigh that sound a lot like, “Oh, kid.”

Uh-uh, no. Not happening. Not now, not anymore. We were past the patronizing, pseudo-big brother stage. Determined to prove that, I bit the corner of my lip slyly and trailed a finger down his downy, well-built chest.

Groaning, he caught my hand in his and lifted it up to his mouth. “Don’t do that,” he said, kissing the back of my knuckles.

“Why not? I’m pretty good at it,” I reminded him, pleased with my own boldness.

He pursed his lips, a touch of sadness in his expression. I took it as disappointment and reddened. The man I loved, the man who’d taken my virginity, had just succeeded in making me feel like a slut. Wasn’t that something.

“What are you thinking?” I wanted to know, the teasing gone out of my voice.

“That’s the problem. I am thinking,” Logan grumbled, bouncing the back of his head against the headboard.

“Well, you should stop. Indefinitely,” I advised in an attempt at levity. That didn’t work, so it was time to go on defense. “You can’t take it back.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” His voice had a hard edge to it.

I gathered the sheet around me, rising to his anger. “But you would if you could, right? Well, I wouldn’t.”

“You’ll want to. Someday, you will.”

“No. I’m not like you. When I make a choice I stick with it. I’m honest.”

“Honest? What about all your talk about not bowing to compromise? This is compromise. This isn’t what you want, some one-night stand the first time you can get it.”

Coldly, I said, “Is that what last night was.”

“I never made you any promises.”

“You promised to take care of me. Now who’s the liar?”

Bull’s-eye. My blind punch, my reflexive need to prove my cunning by turning any opponent’s argument against him had hit home with Logan. The anger left him and in its place was naked self-loathing.

Feeling horrible, I asked softly, “Why are we fighting?”

“Because I made a mistake.”

I valiantly held back the tears that stung my eyes. I couldn’t cry. Little girls who got taken advantage of cried. Grown women who took responsibility for their own actions did not. I put my chin up resolutely.

“Come on now, Logan. If we’re going to have to chalk this up to regret, at least let me have my fair share of the blame. You owe me that much.” My voice was as strong as I could make it, but not nearly as strong as I would’ve liked. “Actually, I deserve most of it. It was me who lured you into bed, right? You weren’t thinking, but I was. I’m the one who wanted this. Really wanted it, I mean.”

Logan turned his head. “Don’t, Rogue.”

“What? What am I supposed to say? Thanks for the ride? I’m not like that. Please don’t think I’m like that.”

“I treated you like that,” he stated flatly, his gaze somewhere near the door.

“Are treating me like that. Present tense. I just can’t understand why. Don’t you love me?”

His jaw clenched and unclenched. “You know I do, kid.” With that, he got out of bed. I thought he would get dressed and leave, but he went around the bed to the bathroom. He gave me that much courtesy, at least.

I listened to him take his shower, wavering between despair, confusion, and anger. He loved me, I loved him; he was attracted to me, I was attracted to him. There were no better grounds for a relationship. Logan’s attitude didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. His inconsistency wasn’t exactly an adult trait, yet it was my maturity that was constantly on trial, not his. Provided I reached my so-called peak the same time as he did, I was going to catch up to his physical age pretty damned quick, and he’d do well to look out.

Was that what it was going to take? Did I have to wait until I was in my thirties before I could be his equal? Or was it futile? Should I just give in and let him coddle me for the rest of my life? That would be worse than compromise. That would be a lie.

“What’re you doing?” Logan asked from the bathroom door, breaking me out of my long trance.

I didn’t turn around. “The real question is what we’re going to do.”

“Christ. I don’t know. I need to think.”

“Wonderful. You thinking always bodes well for me.”

“I don’t need sarcasm,” he snapped.

“Look, I can either be pissed off or I can be weepy. Granted, they’re both sucky choices, but they’re all I got right now, so just lay off.”

Way to be a whiny bitch, Rogue. Way to go. Disgusted with myself, I bit down on the sheet to keep from crying or yelling or both. I hated this. I hated to be emotional. Balance was supposed to be my mantra.

Unexpectedly, I felt Logan lean directly over my shoulder. I turned to look, but he was still standing in the bathroom doorframe. The sense of closeness didn’t fade. I could literally feel how torn Logan was. The annoyed part of him itched to leave. The bigger part, the part that loved me, yearned to make it all better. But the one thing that could do that was something he was unwilling to give for various, intangible reasons that I couldn’t quite understand even as I experienced them with him. A mixture of shame, lust, and uncertainty shrouded a profound sense of failure.

The intimate presence slid away, leaving me less composed then I had been before. Bottom line: he didn’t share my happiness. At least, not today, the optimist in me qualified. The possibilities were open now. And this time I wasn’t about to give up. This time it was real and it mattered.

There was a sudden knock on my door. “Rogue, you up?” It was Bobby. He turned the knob unsuccessfully. “Hey, why’s the door locked?

Logan’s tense posture told me that he didn’t want to be found here. Looking directly at Logan, I answered Bobby, “I’m getting dressed.”

“Well, that’s good ’cause there’s an X-Men meeting in the Professor’s study. Something big.”

Our attention, both Logan’s and mine, went to the closed door. “What do you mean big?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just messenger boy. I have to go find Logan and Storm, so I’ll meet you down there.”

“Know anything about this?” I asked Logan, taking my sheet with me toward my dresser.

“No clue. Guess we’ll find out,” he replied, heading over to where his clothes lay discarded on my floor.

We dressed wordlessly. He didn’t look my way once, so I played it cool and tried not to take peeks at him, even though my eyes were drawn to his form. Logan’s willpower was uncommonly strong, I hated to admit. Then again, he’d already seen what I had to offer. The novelty had probably worn off.

Frustrated, I abused the hangers in my closet. Would the doubts never cease?

Bobby knocked on my closed door again. “Hey, Rogue, Logan’s not in his room, so if you see him will you tell him about the meeting?”

“If I see him,” I returned with a hint of irony, throwing Logan a glance.

Logan went to his room to retrieve an over-shirt once he was sure Bobby was safely on the elevator. I would’ve gone with him, but he told me tersely to go meet Bobby. I complied only to stop myself from making snippy comments that would undermine my maturity resolution.

Bobby was waiting for me downstairs when the elevator doors opened. “I still haven’t found Logan,” he informed me. “Any idea where he is?”

“Yeah, he’s coming. I saw him in the hall upstairs.”

“Good. He’s the one the Professor most needs to see about this.”

“What is this, exactly?” I asked, walking beside him.

“I’m not sure. These two women from Vietnam, they just showed up this morning.”

“Mutants?”

“That’s what they say. They’ve been talking with Cyclops and the Professor all morning. I had to teach Cyclops’s first period driver’s ed class for him.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Not fun. The Professor really needs to look into hiring more teachers. There’re way too many new students this semester. Wagner’s covering Storm’s world history class right now.”

By that time, we’d reached the study door. Bobby knocked once and then ushered me through. A youngish, professionally dressed woman was seated next to Professor Xavier, nursing a cup of tea. Cyclops and the other woman were hovering vigilantly in the background near the open windows. Storm was sitting in the chair opposite one of Professor Xavier’s many elaborate chessboards.

“Have a seat. Logan will be along shortly,” the Professor told us, motioning us toward the sofa.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after we’d sat down, Logan walked through the door and shut it behind him. I didn’t expect him to take the seat beside me since he always preferred standing. I was glad he didn’t. That would’ve been way too much of a distraction. It was hard enough not to think of the elephant as it was.

Oh, God. Blank white wall, I thought wildly. Telepath in the room. Not a vir – Blank white wall. Blank white wall. Telepath in the – Goddamn it, blank white wall!

I sincerely hoped that the Professor would ignore my treacherous, screaming brain. As far as I could tell, he did. That calmed me down quite a bit. I was actually able to pay attention as he started the introductions. “Ms. Xi’an, Ms. Long, these are the remaining members of our team. Bobby Drake, also called Iceman, Rogue, and Logan.”

“The Wolverine,” the woman near the window stated, her piercing green eyes fixed on him.

I looked to Logan for signs of recognition. There was only guarded curiosity.

“It’s good to meet you all,” the other woman replied in accented tones. “My name is Mahn Coy Xi’an and this is Nguyen Thi Long.” Her eyes flicked toward the Professor. “Also called Karma and Dragon.”

The Professor smiled faintly before addressing us. “Ms. Mahn and Ms. Nguyen are associated with Tokuzawa Ichiro’s mutant rights activists in Japan. He suggested that we were better equipped to assist them.”

“Tokuzawa-sensei spoke very highly of you, Professor,” Karma replied graciously.

“Assist them with what?” Logan questioned.

I smiled to myself because I loved it when he cut through the pleasantries. It made these tedious meetings go so much quicker.

But of course, of course – little did I know.

 


	6. You Can't Always Get What You Want

 

Karma looked at the Professor, who gave her a slight nod. Setting down her teacup and saucer on one of the end tables, she began, “Long and myself have been working with the Japanese mutant rights activists for just under a year, since we fled our home country of Vietnam. I don’t know how much you know of Vietnam, but I will tell you that the conditions there are very poor. The economy has been steadily plummeting since Duong Duc Danh took over the Presidency and turned it into a dictatorship six years ago.

“After that, the U.S. revoked their Bilateral Trade Agreement. More than fifty percent of the population now lives below the poverty line. The only steady means of employment are in opium production and the People’s Army. Duong Duc Danh comes from long line of military generals. His objective is more power, both for himself and for Vietnam. Recently, he’s come up with an idea for a new means of gaining wealth and prestige. He’s closed off the boarders and is preparing to deal in arms – that is, mutants.”  
  
Bobby’s eyes went wide. “He’s going to sell people? I thought discrimination was bad here.”  
  
“It’s not about discrimination, Bobby,” Professor Xavier put in. “It’s about exploitation.”  
  
Karma continued, “Mutants in Vietnam are valued for the glory we can bring to the country. There has been a Registration Act similar to the one you are currently fighting in place for decades. When mutants reach the age of fifteen, they begin training in the Army, and the government gives their families income, which is what happened to my twin brother Tran and myself. Male mutants are encouraged to have as many children as possible to increase the population. Some of these children, like Long, begin their training from infancy and are given drugs to speed up the manifestation of their powers.”  
  
I glanced over at Dragon, whose face had gone to stone. Bobby and I exchanged an uncomfortable look, both of us harboring sad images of the childhood she must have endured.  
  
“Most mutants in the programs were volunteers. However, once it was discovered that our families were not receiving the promised income, there were talks of rebellion. I can remember discussing this with Tran, but the rest is unclear, like all my memories of the twelve years before Long and I left. Our memories are returning slowly. The clearest is the final year we spent in Vietnam. That was when the mind control began to run out.” Karma lifted her long, black hair and twisted to show us the circular scar on the back of her neck.  
  
“Scott,” the Professor prompted.  
  
Turning, he pulled down his collar to reveal his own scar.  
  
“For the past two years,” the Professor made clear, “the mutant program in Vietnam has been falling apart as a result of the loss of their former leader. William Stryker.”  
  
“Stryker,” Logan echoed in a growl.  
  
“But why?” Storm asked. “Stryker was a military scientist and an officer in the Vietnam War. Why would he work with Communists?”  
  
The Professor answered, “Stryker’s lab at Alkali Lake proves that he never fully trusted the Vietnamese government. I have no doubt that Stryker intended to use whatever knowledge he gained from them for what he believed was the good of the United States. He was also of the opinion that mutants have their purpose – as long as they can be controlled. That was where Jason came in. But once both father and son were gone, the resources quickly dried up and the Vietnamese lost control.

“However, they seem to have found not only a new way of controlling mutant minds but a new financial backer as well. If we’re to stop Duong Duc Danh from selling mutants and their powers to terrorist states, then we must find out the identity of the backer and the means of control. This information is doubtlessly housed in the military complex where the mutants receive their training.”  
  
“Where’s the complex?” Logan asked.

“In the northwest, in the jungle. Fan Si Pan can be seen from south side of the base,” Dragon answered coolly, still giving Logan the evil eye.  
  
“Fan Si Pan is the highest peak in Vietnam. Could you be more specific?” Logan responded sardonically. I was momentarily impressed by his geographic knowledge. Looked like all those evenings of watching Jeopardy! had paid off.  
  
Karma shook her head. “Unfortunately, that’s all we can remember about the location. On top of that, it’s extremely difficult to get into Vietnam in the first place. Long and I are prepared to try, but we need someone to go with us, someone who can handle themselves.”  
  
“Someone with a security clearance,” Dragon amended.  
  
Storm, Bobby, and I looked at Logan questioningly. His brow furrowed. “You mean me?”  
  
Dragon’s response was clipped. “I doubt they went to all of the trouble to take your clearance off the computers after you left, especially since they had so little respect for your intelligence in the first place.”  
  
It hit me hard in the gut. Logan had been part of this project. I’d always vaguely known that he had worked with Stryker in some capacity. This was specific. These two women knew him and, judging by Dragon’s attitude, probably hated him.  
  
“This mission is for you, Logan,” the Professor told him.  
  
Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded curtly.  
  
“I must warn you, it will be long and trying and might bring up facets of your past that you’ve deemed best remain buried.”  
  
“How long is long?” I had to cut in.  
  
“It all depends on how long it takes us to find the base,” Karma answered. “Could be months…years.”  
  
I was floored, but Logan was still game.  
  
“Good,” the Professor settled. “There’s no time to lose. You’ll leave this afternoon on a flight to Thailand and continue on your own from there.“ He addressed the rest of us, saying, “Since we’re letting go of one of our team members for such an extended period of time, I would like to propose bringing Jubilation Lee, Peter Rasputin, Julian Keller, and Kitty Pride into the X-Men as permanent members. Anyone apposed? Excellent. We’ll have another meeting discussing that tomorrow. Logan, you stay for further details about the mission, but the rest of you can get back to class. The flight leaves in three hours, if you’d like time to say goodbye.” He looked directly at me when he said that.  
  
“Wait, wait,” I said, finally finding my voice. “Professor, I’d like to volunteer to go along on the mission. I mean, three people to do all that?”  
  
“Three people is enough, if it’s the right three people,” the Professor replied in a soothing tone.  
  
“And if we did need more, it wouldn’t be you going along,” Logan said flatly.  
  
“Why, too dangerous?” I sneered.  
  
“Yes. And you’d be no use.”  
  
My teeth snapped together audibly. I wanted to reach over and use Bobby’s power to freeze Logan into a block of ice, or take Storm’s and electrocute him with a bolt of lightning. I couldn’t because I would hurt them in the process. It infuriated me that, while he had hundreds of ways to destroy me, I didn’t have a single power over him anymore. Everything had a price.

“Professor?” I asked.  
  
“I’m sorry, Rogue.”  
  
I left the room, jostling Logan with my shoulder on the way.  
  
What he’d said had been true. I wouldn’t be any use to the mission. I’d just slow them down. “But he didn’t have to be so fucking mean about it,” I snarled loudly when the elevator doors had shut tight.

I was angry, no doubt, but the worst part was that it was anger driven by desperation. Logan was leaving for a long, trying, dangerous mission with two women no one had even questioned whether or not could be trusted and without anyone to watch his back. And there was nothing I could do but let him. I hated it.  
  
Striding out of the elevator and down the hall, I threw open Logan’s bedroom door unceremoniously. With brusque efficiency, I pulled his two duffle bags and backpack down from the top of his closet and began to pack for him. I put the essentials in the backpack and filled the duffle bags with less important stuff he could get rid of on the way.

As pissed off as I was, I still needed to give him something of mine, so I quickly went to my room and grabbed a picture I had pinned to my bulletin board. It was a shot of Logan and me at Christmas dinner last year that Kitty had taken with her digital camera. He had a bottle of beer hanging from his fingers and an amused smile on his face as he looked over at me. I was grinning back. Nothing special really, but it was rare to catch Logan on camera doing anything but frowning. I made him happy. I wanted him to remember that.  
  
I had safely stowed away the picture in his backpack and was just folding the final pair of jeans to add to his duffle bag when he came into the room. He said, “You don’t have to that.”  
  
“People don’t always just do what they have to. Sometimes they do what they want to.”  
  
“You don’t want to pack for me. You don’t want me to go at all.”  
  
Arrogant bastard. In spite of myself, I laughed. “No, you’re right. I don’t. But it’s awful damn convenient for you, though.”  
  
“I didn’t plan this. I would’ve had to go either way.”  
  
He was talking about last night. I was surprised he remembered. “Still,” I said, “you have to admit, the timing’s perfect. No, it’s okay. When things get too complicated, you cut and run. I understand. I used to be just like that. But then I grew up.”  
  
“You’re not the reason I’m going. I have to go.”  
  
I ignored that. It didn’t fit in well with my air of superiority. “Make sure I didn’t forget to pack anything important,” I told him, zipping up the duffle bag. “I’ll meet you in the garage in twenty minutes. I’m driving you to the airport.” I tried to push past him, but he caught my elbows.  
  
“Let’s not leave it like this,” he said, his hands stroking the bare skin between my sleeves and gloves.  
  
I closed my eyes tightly, wishing his touch didn’t mean so much.  
  
“Talk to me, Rogue.”  
  
I opened my eyes directly. “When you said you needed to think, did you ever even consider that we could be together? Or was that not even a possibility for you?”  
  
His expression answered for him. It wasn’t.  
  
Pulling his face to mine, I pressed my lips hard against his. I stepped back when he started to respond. “Stop,” I said, forgetting that I had been the one to kiss him. “It hurts.”  
  
“Why can’t we just go back to the way it was?”  
  
“Why can’t we just be together?”  
  
Logan broke eye contact, moving further into his room. “We’re both too stubborn, I guess.”  
  
“Yeah. I guess so.”  
  
I meant to leave. I couldn’t. Years, Karma had said. One or five, I wondered.  
  
Logan came out of the bathroom empty-handed. I must’ve done a good job packing. I put his backpack on and let him carry the duffle bags. Though it was on the little heavy side for me, the backpack would do just fine for him. “You should buy bug spray before you go,” I advised, already worrying.  
  
“The Professor took care of it.”  
  
“Right. Of course.”  
  
After that, there was lunch to be eaten and people who wanted to say good luck, and directions to be given and followed. The tension and awkwardness between us built steadily and without much cause until I pulled the SUV up to the main entrance of the Westchester Country airport. Like Logan, I didn’t want to leave it like this. What could I say?  
  
I watched him unload the bags from the back, and politely said goodbye to Karma and Dragon. Logan didn’t follow them. “You coming inside?” he asked.  
  
“I don’t think so.” I would cry if I had to prolong this any further.  
  
“Well, this is it, then. Anything you need to get off your chest?”  
  
“You’re an asshole,” I said promptly, and had to smile when he gave me the eyebrow. “But I still love you.”  
  
“Listen,” he said almost earnestly. “You be careful while I’m gone. Do your job, but don’t try and be a hero or anything. Got it?”  
  
“Same to you.”  
  
“Not much chance of that.”  
  
“Of what, being a hero? Don’t be stupid, you know you are one.”  
  
His arms came around me then, and he kissed my forehead. “I’m gonna miss you, kid.”  
  
I hugged him back tightly, wanting more than anything to never have to let him go.

 


	7. Give It Up

Even though Logan was gone, it still felt like he was with me. There was consolation in that fact, but it made his physical absence all the more painful. The simple memory of pressing my cheek against his bare chest caused my throat to clench.

I’d like to say that my missing him didn’t stop me from living my life, but that would be a lie. Really all I was doing was waiting. Things around the school changed here and there. More teachers were hired, more students enrolled. Classes got harder, rescue missions got more frequent.

At first, it was jarring to have to alter so many of the little routines I was used to. I trained with Storm now, mostly focusing on practical matters like piloting the Blackbird. It was Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Peter, Keller, and me for the longest time, until Keller started dating Sierra Berlanti and I started leaving myself out of a lot of group activities. Instead, I took over Logan’s monopolization of the Danger Room, read more books, and spent more time with Kurt. I wasn’t bouncing off the walls with exuberant joy, but I honestly wasn’t depressed. No one seemed to believe that, though.

“You think I could sleep like this, Anna Marie?” Kurt asked me jovially one afternoon a full nine months after Logan had left. Kurt was hanging by his tail from the rafters directly above my head like a giant, blue, wingless bat dressed in a white dress shirt and slacks.

I tilted my head back and smiled up at him because that was the reaction he was looking for. “I don’t know. You might fall.”

“Ach, you insult me. I’m perfectly at ease this way. It’s good for my posture.”

Ruefully, I straightened up from my slouch. I turned my attention back to grading the German I multiple-choice tests and berating myself for not being able to understand even the simplest directions.

Accompanied by the requisite “bamf” noise, Kurt appeared beside me in a smoky blue haze. Jumping into a back flip, he ended up in a one-arm handstand, balancing on the edge of the desk I was working on. “Ta-da,” he announced, flipping back to his feet.

Clapping appreciatively, I laughed as he bowed in mock humility.

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Would you like to try it yourself?”

The offer caught me off guard. “I…It would hurt you.”

“No matter.” He stuck out his three-fingered hand, adding as an incentive, “I’ll teach you my best tricks.”

Guiltily, I peeled off my long glove and stood up to take his hand. Slow and easy, I chided myself. But it was impossible to concentrate on just his power. His trusting nature left everything open. For a moment, I saw myself standing there through his eyes. That scared me into jerking back. Seeing that he was teetering on his feet, I pulled my chair around so he could sit down.

“Dank.”

“Es tut mir leid,” I apologized.

His eyes opened wide. “What did you – ” Gasping, he cut himself off.

“What’s wrong,” I inquired, my skin itching uncomfortably. My eyes followed my fingers to my bare arm as I scratched. The skin there darkened and changed color under my gaze. “Whoa.” I rubbed the back of my hand, half-expecting the blue to smear like paint. Hardly realizing what I was doing, I bamfed through the open door to Kurt’s room and then into the bathroom. “Oh, wow.” My reflection in the mirror was eerily altered. My eyes and teeth were the same; they just looked different against my glittering, navy blue skin.

“Anna Marie, are you all right?” Kurt asked me from outside the bathroom.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered, coming out of the open door. I was slightly shaken but unwilling to let on. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. It’s pretty awesome.”

Kurt visibly relaxed. “You think so?”

“Ja.” I frowned. “Spreche ich Deutsch?”

“Sehr gut,” Kurt complimented, and then ruined it by joking, “Es ist ein Wunder.”

I almost was offended, until I remembered how bad my German usually was. “Yeah, it is kind of a miracle.”

There must’ve been some biological advantage to blue skin because, unlike the bamfing power that lasted only a half hour or so, it took close to three and a half days for the blue pigmentation to fade. It was strange how easily I got used to it, but it took others by surprise.

“Oh my God, you’re blue,” was Flea’s astonished response when we almost ran into each other in the hallway outside the library.

I narrowed my eyes at him, smirking, “Good call, Sherlock.”

As I walked away, I heard Nicole smack him on the arm and say, “You are such a jerk. And you wonder why Laurel doesn’t want to be in the band with you.”

“No, hey, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, she’s not normally blue, you know?”

“You’re always mean to her for no good reason. Grow up,” Nicole shot back, echoing the universal cry of women everywhere.

I didn’t stick around for the rest of the conversation, but later that day I got another mix slid under my door. The note attached read, “Don’t mind me and my big, fat mouth. I’m a worthless flea. Travis Ryan.” I popped in the CD and laughed because the first song was The Ramones, “Beat on the Brat.” Along the same vein, track two was “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones. As I had suspected, the third track was “Mississippi Queen.”

Taking the library’s copy of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening off my desk, I settled in for a relaxing Friday with a classic novel, some great music, and a pack of mini-Oreos.

My door flung open of its own accord. “Hello, hello,” Keller enthused, striding into my room, all grins and angular features. “Don’t you look Smurf-tastically beautiful this fine afternoon.” The book flew out of my hands and landed bouncily on my mattress. “Definitely too pretty to stay at home.”

“Let me guess. You and Sierra are on the rocks again, and you need a fill-in date.”

Keller was horrified. “How dare you find me predictable. As a matter of fact, Sierra and I are madly in love, yadda, yadda, yadda. Copyright of Hallmark.”

“No you’re not.”

“Okay, so we’re not. But we know how to go out and have a fun time. You remember fun.”

“I remember you being annoying a lot, but the rest is kind of hazy,” I retorted, reaching my hand into the package of Oreos.

“Aw, you’re like Cookie Monster, only your eyes aren’t all googly and on the top of your head.”

“Ha, ha. I’m blue. Funny. Get over it.”

“The ribbing is part of being a minority, as temporary as it may be for you. Go ahead, try an Arab joke. Or, hey, I’m also half-Irish and short. Would you laugh at a wee leprechaun dance?”

“Go away,” I sighed grandly, not bothering to point out that just being a mutant made me a minority.

“Afraid I can’t. I am here on official X-Men business. We, meaning all of us, have just scored the best mission ever. One week’s paid vacation in sunny southern California. The City of Angels, to be precise. So let’s get to packing, little girl. We leave now.”

So much for relaxing.

“I hate to spoil your excitement, but if the Professor is sending us there on such short notice then that means something’s up. This is not a vacation.”

“Well, okay, so we do have to look into some minor disturbances around the Brentwood school, but it’s just teenagers with too much power and not enough discipline. Kid’s stuff. We crack the whip, ship them back here if necessary, and we’re golden.” Eyes focused, he telekinetically opened my closet doors, rolled out my suitcase, and began filling it with perfectly folded clothes.

“Keller, you amaze me.”

“No, it’s Dr. McCoy who’s amazing. He’s been helping me increase my power with that Power Boost stuff. Just a little bit, though. Nothing dangerous. And, er, not enough to make me furry. He’s too careful for that. For real though, I don’t know how any of us would function around here without him. It’s the little things, you know? The medicine, the serums, the gadgets. He makes life so much easier.”

“That’s true. If it weren’t for his little anti-metal detector chip, Logan wouldn’t be able to fly commercial.”

“Still no word from ’Nam?” Keller inquired, his tone carefully neutral.

I flinched inwardly, wishing I hadn’t slipped and brought up Logan. It never failed to make people feel sorry for me. Casually as possible, I replied, “We can’t really expect it. It’s tough to get reception in the middle of the jungle. He’s fine, though. He can take care of himself.”

“Of course he can,” Keller agreed a little too readily, finishing up with my clothes. “I’ll let you pack your feminine unmentionables.”

“Thanks,” I snickered, getting out of bed and heading into my bathroom.

A thirty minute briefing and fifteen minute drive later, I once again found myself at the entrance to Westchester County Airport in White Plains.

“Here’re the tickets,” Cyclops said, handing them over to Bobby and giving him some extra instructions.

As always, Cyclops was putting Bobby in charge. It was such a natural thing that I never questioned it at first, but ever since Keller, Jubilee, Peter, and Kitty became full-fledged X-Men, it had become apparent to me that, despite being an X-Man for longer, I was an afterthought in all of Cyclops’s careful, strategic planning. Even so, he made sure I trained twice as hard as everyone else. A team’s only as strong as it’s weakest link, and he thought that link was me. Man, did that ever burn.

Already privately irritated by that, it made the stares I got even more aggravating. Just being a mutant was one thing; being an obvious mutant was quite another. Unsurprisingly, my bags were checked more extensively than anybody else’s in line and, on board, the stewardesses kept a wary eye on me since obvious mutants were seen as the extreme terrorists of the mutant community.

Pointedly ignoring everyone else – including my friends – I buried my nose in The Awakening and didn’t look up until we had to get off at O’Hare to get on the connecting flight to Los Angeles. I slept the whole way to LAX

Sullen, withdrawn – Dare I say emo? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was stretching the definition of “fine” to its limits.


	8. Get Off of My Cloud

 

 

After picking up our baggage, we were met at the airport by the Dean of Brentwood School for Gifted Youngsters, a trim man in his early thirties holding up a sign that read, “Xavier: Party of Six.”

“We’re from Xavier’s Institute,” Bobby said, shaking the dean’s hand.

“Ah, excellent. I’m Rodrigo Vivar.”

“El Cid,” Kitty remarked, surprising herself.

“That’s what the kids call me. It’s nice to see that Spanish history hasn’t been neglected out on the east coast,” the dean replied, giving her a friendly wink. “And your name?”

“Kitty Pryde. And, um, this is Bobby Drake, Jubilation Lee, Peter Rasputin, Julian Keller, and Rogue.”

El Cid shook our hands one at a time, stopping to give me a warm smile. “Just Rogue?”

“Just Rogue,” I echoed, thinking he had compassionate eyes.

“Well, it’s good to have you here, all of you. This way.”

Bobby shifted his big, black duffle bag higher on his shoulder so he could carry one of Kitty’s suitcases for her. Meanwhile, Peter effortlessly took on all three of Jubilee’s heavy suitcases, plus his own unwieldy duffle bag. And looked damned good doing it, I had to acknowledge when Jubilee threw me an “ooh, baby” look. To use her words, Peter was a man of few words but many, many strengths.

Wagging his eyebrows, Keller held out his suitcase to me. “Have at it.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” I replied, dumping mine into his outstretched arms and trailing after the group.

Accepting my suitcase, Keller said drolly, “Gee, Elmo, that was clever and unexpected.”

“Grover, you moron. Elmo is red.”

“You know the most worthless things.”

“Shut it.”

Once outside in the parking lot, Keller put our suitcases in the back of the van and I stuffed my backpack on the top of the pile. Climbing inside, he crowded in the way back between Bobby and Kitty. “Scoot over. I don’t want to sit by Rogue. She’s grumpy.”

“What’s wrong?” Bobby wanted to know immediately.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I answered tersely, buckling up in one of the bucket seats. Jubilee took the other one and Peter got shotgun.

“Have you had dinner? We could stop somewhere,” El Cid offered.

“We ate at O’Hare,” Bobby declined, speaking up from the back.

They continued with some small talk about our seven-hour trip. Closing my eyes, I pressed my forehead against the warm window. I liked riding in cars. It was soothing. I let my attention waver in out of the conversation happening around me, only catching part of the explanation about how Brentwood had recently lost several of its older kids to a hostile pro-mutant organization that had set up shop downtown a few months back, calling themselves the Coalition for Mutant Supremacy. We already knew this, of course, but everyone else listened politely anyway.

The Brentwood school, only a year old, was one of eight schools that the Professor had organized around the world, the oldest of which was Tokuzawa Ichiro’s in Tokyo. Brentwood was different from our school in a lot of ways. No jets, for example, and no X-Men. It also had, surprisingly, a much smaller enrollment. LA was the central haven for runaway mutants, though, unfortunately, a lot of them would rather fend for themselves than have to abide by house rules. Still, the Professor and the Vivars were confident that enrollment would grow in time.

But this Coalition moving in had the potential to be a major setback. Not to mention dangerous. A whole group of them, including three ex-Brentwood students, had been jailed just the day before for attacking anti-mutant protestors outside City Hall. Violent Coalition response was expected – hence our presence.

The school rested on the northern hills of Brentwood. From what I could see, the grounds weren’t very big, but the mansion itself was about the same size as our school. It looked more modern with its white pillars and large glass windows. Stepping through the front door, the first thing I noticed was the huge, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The renovations to make it more like a school weren’t complete yet so it felt like I was walking into someone’s house.

A short, plump woman came down the black and white marble staircase, a soft glow around her. “Hello.”

El Cid introduced her grandly, “This is my beautiful Luz, the light of the world.”

She laughed off the introduction, getting brighter as she blushed.

“Luz, this is Kitty, Peter, Jubilation, Keller, Bobby, and Rogue.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

“Where’s la princesa?” El Cid asked his wife.

“I just got her to sleep.”

“Oh,” Bobby said, setting down Kitty’s suitcase so he could dig around in his duffel bag. “I have presents for Juliana from the Professor, Scott, and Storm.”

“More gifts,” Luz exclaimed happily.

“She’s going to be so spoiled we’re not going to be able to live with her,” El Cid laughed, taking the three brightly wrapped boxes from Bobby. “We’ll have to send along thank you cards.”

“We can do better than that,” Luz scoffed, turning nostalgic. “I haven’t talked to Ororo in so long.”

Luz, I knew from the briefing, had been one of Professor Xavier’s first students, along with Strom, Cyclops, and Dr. Grey. A California native, Luz had left the school when she’d been accepted to Stanford, and then went into the Peace Corps where she’d met El Cid – who was not a mutant and whose only power lie in his charm and connections around LA. When they’d come back to the city, they’d worked as teachers in Boyle Heights before approaching Professor Xavier with the idea of starting a school for mutants out on the west coast.

“How is Scott?” Luz inquired hesitantly. “It’ll be three years this October. Is he…is he seeing anyone, do you know?”

“He’s keeping busy,” Bobby answered non-specifically.

“Good, good,” El Cid put in. “Uh, well, let me take you to your rooms so you can put your things away.”

A lot of the rooms were empty, probably enough for each of us to have our own room, yet Jubilee, Kitty, and I still ended up sharing a dorm-style bedroom.

“It’s just like old times,” Kitty remarked, tossing her suitcase on the closest bed. She started over toward the bathroom, but Jubilee beat her to it. Derisively, Kitty repeated, “Just like old times.”

Chuckling through a yawn, I flopped down on an empty bed and stretched contentedly.

Kitty said, “You can’t be tired. It’s only seven o’clock.”

“It’s ten o’clock back home,” I pointed out.

“That’s not late. Besides, you slept on the plane. Come on. Seriously. Come downstairs with us to meet everybody. It’ll be fun.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine here. Really.”

It took some prodding to get Kitty and Jubilee to leave without me. When I was finally alone, I started reading The Awakening again. I was determined to finish it that night, even though I was well on my way to hating the protagonist, Edna Pontellier. I found her temperamental, selfish, and more and more unlikable as the book wore on. I had made it to the conclusion just before Bobby came in, and couldn’t help but think of Edna, Serves you right, you stupid broad.

“Hey,” he said, sitting on the bed next to the one I was on.

Putting my book down, I forced myself to smile when I replied, “Hey.”

“We got a lead. A couple of the dropouts just came back. They left the Coalition a few days ago because they said it was getting too real. They came back because they know the plan for tomorrow.”

“The Coalition plan? What is it?”

“They’re not one hundred percent.”

“Positive or reliable?”

“Well, neither,” Bobby smiled. “But they say that something’s going to happen at Dodger Stadium. There’s a game tomorrow at one, so we’re guessing that’s when. El Cid already called his friend on the LAPD, and we’re gonna go too. The school has season tickets, so it’ll be no problem. I ran it by the Professor and Scott, and they said that’s what we should do.”

Scott. The whole first-name basis thing was still a bit jarring to me. Likely because I was jealous. Bobby was the protégé. I was nobody.

One thing goes wrong in my life, and suddenly it becomes mandatory for me to tear down the rest of it just for the sake of balance. Certainly not my finest trait.

Through my teeth, I said, “All right. Sounds good. Thanks for telling me.”

Bobby didn’t have any intention of leaving. “Your skin’s lighter than before,” he remarked.

“Yeah, I think it’s finally clearing up. It’s been two days.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on his knee. “So.”

Oh, great. “So, what?”

“So, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong. I told you before.”

“Then why are you up here when everyone else is down there?” Not letting me answer, he pressed on, “Why do you always say no when I ask you to go out?”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t like being the seventh wheel.”

“I mean when it’s just you and me. You won’t go out. All we do is stay at home and watch movies.”

“I like movies.”

“You’re missing the point. You always want to be by yourself.”

“That is not true. If I’m not with you, I’m training or with Kurt. I never get to be alone.”

“‘Get to be alone.’ That’s what I’m talking about. You want to be alone, and that’s what’s wrong.”

“So, it’s wrong to want a little bit of privacy now and then? Geez. Excuse me for not spending my every waking moment with you. I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“Rogue, I’m trying to really talk to you here. I know you miss Logan – ”

“Oh, come on.”

“You come on. You’re not acting like yourself. You’re acting like him. You’re being him.”

“God, ever since I told you about that stupid yam thing nothing is mine anymore. I beat you at pool and it’s because I have Logan in me. I like classic rock so that must be John’s influence. I can’t even like ice cream without you telling me that I got that from you.”

“See, this is why I avoided talking to you about this for so long. I knew you’d get defensive.”

“Boy, oh boy. You can tell Kitty she shouldn’t have bothered forcing you up here. It’s obvious you don’t care.”

“Whatever. As if you care about anyone but Logan. There is room for other people.”

“Get the hell out,” I said flatly, opening my book again even though I was finished and never, ever wanted to read it again. I’d felt vindicated snapping at Bobby at first, but now I just felt petty, like I’d regressed five years.

Gently, Bobby leaned way over to push the top of the book down. “Okay, okay. Forget that. I’m sorry. Look, I know that Logan’s your best friend, but I’m your friend, too. I’m here and I want to help.”

Before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Logan and I are more than friends.”

Bobby stilled. “What?”

I pursed my lips together. Blowing out a breath, I explained, “Before Logan left, we found out that he’s immune to my skin now. So we…”

“You…” With a slow smile, Bobby came to terms. “That’s great, Rogue. That’s awesome. Why didn’t you tell me before that you guys were together? I would’ve been happy for you. Believe me. I mean, I am happy for you.”

“We were never together.” I couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Bobby’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“We were never together or going out or anything. We only had that night. We didn’t know before then. It just kind of happened. Like an accident almost. For him, anyway. He didn’t mean for it to happen. Now he wants to go back to just being my friend. More like my protector, actually.”

The anger on Bobby’s face made me feel even worse. “Protector? That was a shit thing he did to you.”

“It was mutually shitty.”

“I doubt that.”

“You weren’t there, so you’ll have to take my word for it.”

Cautiously, Bobby asked, “What do you think will happen when he gets back?”

I shrugged. “It depends. On him.”

Bobby looked me directly in the eye. “What are you going to do if it doesn’t work out?”

“I’ll survive.”

Good friend that he was, Bobby called me on my bullshit. “Not the way you’re going. You don’t want to end up like Edna, do you?”

“You read this book?”

“I took Women’s Lit with Kitty, remember? I wrote a paper on how Edna’s really an anti-feminist, because she’s a really bad example of a so-called independent woman. I got an A.”

“Well, good for you. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t fall in love with anyone else.”

“Does this look like the eighteen hundreds to you? You don’t need some guy around to have a happy life. All you need are good friends, a hobby, and job you love.”

“Way to be a real feminist,” I laughed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now. What are you going to do after college?”

“Be an X-Man. Duh.”

“What else? Are you going to teach? Be a politician like Keller? Hey, maybe you could go all out and be a man-hating PE teacher.”

“That’s always been my dream.”

“Just figure out what you like and then do it. That way, if it works out with Logan you’ll be doubly happy. And if it doesn’t…”

“I get it.”

“That a girl.”

As hard as it was for me to hear it, everything Bobby had said was true. I was putting too much into Logan. I wasn’t thinking about my future in realistic terms. I did need to suck it up and let myself have fun for a change. I resolved to change all that as soon as possible.

That next day, I was as social as anybody. I went down for breakfast without a fight, met some of the teachers and students, and clamored for my turn to hold Juliana. I felt horrible for thinking it, but the first thing that came to mind when I saw the two year-old was the purple Furby doll my grandma had gotten me for my sixth birthday. It was Juliana’s big eyes, fur-like purple hair, and matching tail that did it. She was normal in every other respect, especially in her need for attention.

To his embarrassment, she grew especially fond of Peter. She sat on his lap at lunch and threw a hellish temper tantrum when it was time to for us to leave. Only after Peter promised he’d bring her back a Dodgers cap did she agree to relinquish his leg so we could get to the game.

It was the bottom of the fourth and I was standing in line for said cap with Peter, Bobby, and Kitty when it hit me that I was, indeed, having fun. The few stares I got – those who didn’t look close probably thought I was merely a diehard fan in makeup – didn’t bother me much, and I hadn’t felt like locking myself in the bathroom or telling everyone to shut the hell up more than once.

To the gang I said, “This is pretty cool. I’ve never been to a baseball game before. Not a professional one, anyway.

“I’ve been to about a million,” Kitty replied. “But this is the first time I’ve seen my Cubbies play away.”

“Your Cubbies,” Bobby snorted.

“Hey, I am a Chicago native. The Cubbies are deep, deep in my heart. And if you had any sense of hometown pride, you’d feel the same way about the Red Sox. They aren’t as good as the Cubs, of course, but you’re obligated to be loyal. Unless you’re from St. Louis. Then you need to move.”

“Why St. Louis?” I asked, not up on my baseball rivalries.

“Because the Cardinals suck.”

“Okay, then. But how do you feel about the Yankees? We could go see a Yankee game sometime, after we get back to New York.”

“Sounds like fun,” Bobby replied, pushing his shoulder into mine to show he was proud of me.

“I’ll take that hat right there,” Peter said when it was his turn, and handed over the money El Cid had insisted he use. “Thank you.”

The four of us switched from the merchandise line to the snack line, then headed back outside to our seats once we’d been served. Jubilee absently took her Diet Pepsi from her boyfriend, engrossed in the moveable tattoos one of the returned dropouts, a seventeen year-old named Christine Cord, was showing her. Tatoo and her girlfriend, Noriko Ashida, or Surge, had come along so that they could point out Coalition members.

So far, they hadn’t recognized anyone. All was quiet. Kitty was using her brand new palm pilot, which was more like a small laptop than a personal organizer, to hack into the LAPD computer system in case something Coalition-related happened somewhere else. El Cid pointedly overlooked that bit of illegality.

As the game wore on, I became increasingly aware that it was July in Southern California and I was the only one not wearing shorts and a tank top. “I am baking over here,” I complained, swiping the back of my gloved hand across my damp forehead.

“I can fix that.” Bobby discreetly waved his fingers in my direction, instantly cooling me off.

“What would I do without you?”

“Suffer horrifically.”

Bobby jumped when Kitty reached over and grabbed him by the arm suddenly. “Ooh, ooh…Yes! Fourth homerun of the game! I love you, Davy Ramirez! I want your babies!”

“Kitty, I’m sitting right here,” Bobby informed her incredulously.

“Remember when she was shy?” I laughed.

“Yeah. Fondly.”

“Hey, that’s three runs for us, not them,” Kitty yelled, drawing our attention to the huge, animated scoreboard. “It’s twelve to five Cubs, not the other way around!” Other Cubs fans began to boo whoever was operating the scoreboard.

The homerun announcement image flickered off the screen and was replaced by a wobbly, handheld video camera shot of the top of a Dodger’s cap. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I like that score much better,” a memorable voice said, echoing loudly out of the speakers.

In the seat next to me, El Cid tensed and muttered, “Here we go.”

 


	9. Highway to Hell

 

Everyone, even the players on the diamond, stopped what they were doing to look up. The boos died out, replaced by a buzz of confusion. The handheld camera tilted down to reveal the speaker’s grinning face. Surge gasped.  
  
“There’s one,” Tattoo pointed out needlessly. “He’s the leader.”

“Ricochet,” I bit off.

“You know him?”  
  
“We all do,” Bobby replied distractedly, “He used to be part of the Brotherhood.”

Slipping into serious mode, Keller finished, “And now he’s branched out on his own.”

“Whew,” Ricochet chuckled, as if nervous. “This is a big day for me. I’ve been planning this for quite awhile. Ever since I met my friends here.”

The camera panned left to reveal a lanky blond boy in glasses sitting on a bench seat next to two sleek-looking laptops, and a thickly built, dark-haired guy making smug, “What’s up?” nods.

“That’s Cypher, the genius who cracked the entire network system. Say hi to the kids at home, Cyph.” He waved dorkily. “And this is Richter. Richter, my friends, is a tough guy. You don’t want to be messing with him. You’ll see why. Oh, and we have our lovely camerawoman, Mercury.” The camera spun around to reveal a brunette with silver skin making kissie faces at us.  
  
“What’s he playing at?” Bobby murmured.  
  
“That’s just it. He is playing,” Kitty responded.  
  
“What’re we going to do?” Jubilee asked Bobby.  
  
“Hold off for a second. Listen.”  
  
Mercury focused the camera back on Ricochet, who continued, “And me? Well, I’m Ricochet. A man with a dream and the drive to see it through. I am the leader of the Coalition for Mutant Supremacy. That’s right. Mutant supremacy.” A mocking glint in his dark brown eyes, Ricochet sneered dramatically, “And we’re here to make your worst fears come true, America.” Rubbing his hands together briskly, he explained, “Here’s a little history lesson for you. In 1999, Dodger Stadium was supposed to undergo an upgrade so it would meet seismic standards. Before that could happen, ownership switched from News Corp to current owner Frank McCourt, who decided to spend fifteen million dollars revamping the aesthetics instead.

“Since then, the stadium has been upgraded to the newest technology twice, but each time Frankie ignored the fact that just one-point-eight miles below this very stadium is the Puente Hills fault. Seismologists have been saying for years that Puente Hills has the potential to create the big E. An earthquake so powerful it would decimate the entire city of Los Angeles. Now, of course, this is an extremely unlikely turn of events. Earthquakes that big happen every five hundred to two thousand years. I mean, the likelihood of that kind of thing happening today of all days is, statistically speaking, completely improbable. Unless…”  
  
Abruptly, I pitched sideways into El Cid when the concrete beneath my feet began to tremor. It stopped just as quickly as it started.  
  
“Like I said,” Ricochet smirked, “Richter’s a powerful guy.”  
  
The shaken crowd’s confusion turned to either to stricken gasps or cries of outrage. The people around us who’d figured out I wasn’t wearing body paint gave me uncomfortable looks, as if I had anything to do with Ricochet’s power trip. Actually, maybe they were on to something. If it weren’t for me saving John, Ricochet would still be under Magneto’s guidance. When that had become a good thing, I had no idea.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Jubilee cried, leaning on Peter for support. “There are so many easier ways to get his guys out of prison.”  
  
“He’s not worried about them,” Keller deduced grimly. “He’s going to do it. He’s going to use Richter to stimulate the fault until it decimates the entire city.”  
  
“But why?” Kitty asked, staggered.  
  
John, usually dormant, stirred in the back of my mind, providing me with the justification I needed to answer that. It was simple, really. “Mutant supremacy. We have the power. Ricochet’s proving that in the biggest, most horrifying way possible. And he’s using the networks showing the game to broadcast it nationally.”  
  
“Where is he?” Bobby snapped at Surge.  
  
“How should I know?” she answered, wide-eyed.  
  
Breathlessly, Tattoo realized, “He’s in the metro rail. Red line. See? You can tell by the seats and shit.”  
  
The image on the scoreboard flipped back to the cameras on the field. Once again, the ground began to shake, this time much more forcefully. Panicky but not hysterical, the earthquake savvy California crowd headed for safety. Never having been in an earthquake before, I could only guess where that was.  
  
Bobby was ready to act. “How do we get down there?”  
  
“Follow me,” El Cid ordered, moving with the crowd. He whipped out his cell phone. While he dialed, he yelled to us, “They extended the track right below the Stadium to make it easier for fans to get to games. It’s finished, but it hasn’t been opened for the public yet. The entrance is in the lower level parking lot, right by the security room. Miguel,” he said into his phone. “It’s Rodrigo. Yeah, we know. There’s what? How do we get there fastest? Okay. All right. We’ll be down as soon as…It’s what they’re here for. I promise you, they’re trained for this. Right.”  
  
We made it inside the terraced stadium and managed to break off from the compact crowd. Sprinting down the concrete floors and hopping over fallen vender stands, we made it to the other end of the stadium just in time for another, heavier shake. We crouched in the alcove leading outside, hands over our heads.  
  
“This is at least a five-pointer,” Shannell informed us with some calm.  
  
“I hate earthquakes,” Kitty decided frenetically, burying her face in Bobby’s shoulder. If Logan had been there, I would’ve done the same thing.  
  
An awful groaning noise drowned out Bobby’s calming words. Peaking out between my arms, I watched in astonishment as the huge scoreboard mounted on the back wall just diagonal from us began to sway. I could hear the bolts on the back pop out. Right as the tremors subsided, the huge monitor fell forward, almost in slow motion.  
  
Keller used the wall to stand up from his crouch, his hand outstretched. The scoreboard didn’t slow its descent. Clenching his teeth, Keller pushed more power out of himself to little avail.  
  
“Forget it,” Bobby cried since there was no one directly under it, and pulled him inside.  
  
The rest of us quickly followed to escape the torrent of glass that exploded in every direction upon impact. Screams echoed through the stadium. With a hoarse cry, El Cid fell to all fours, a hand-sized shard of glass embedded in his right shoulder blade.

That should’ve been me, I cursed myself. I could heal. I should’ve been the last one out of the alcove. I’d been so concerned with myself that I didn’t even think about it. Definitely not a hero. Logan would be so proud.  
  
Losing no time, Peter put El Cid over his shoulder as gently as he could. Breathing raggedly through the pain, El Cid directed him to the employee only stairwell, which led down to the security room and, next to it, the entrance to the newest branch of LA’s only subway. The entire level was already crawling with blue-clad LAPD officers and black-clad SWAT members.  
  
“What happened?” the uniformed man I guessed was Miguel demanded upon seeing his friend.  
  
“The scoreboard came down. Glass flew everywhere,” Bobby replied, helping Peter place El Cid in the rollout chair one of the LAPD guys brought out from the security room.  
  
“Are you…the X-Men?” the SWAT leader asked, giving us a skeptical eye.  
  
“That’s right. We’re here to help,” Bobby said directly.  
  
“Captain,” an older LAPD man said to Miguel. “With all due respect, they’re just a bunch of mutie kids.”  
  
“They’re just a bunch of kids, too,” Miguel snapped, pointing to one of the security monitors. It showed five teenage Coalition members guarding the platform. “I’m not gonna stand here and say that we’re equipped to handle this situation. We’re not. These people are here to help, so we let them. This Richter needs to be stopped before he tears the whole city apart. If I lose my job over this, it’ll be my own fault.” Many of the cops looked mutinous, but Miguel had rank so they could do nothing.  
  
The SWAT leader nodded his assent, and got down to it. “We haven’t been able to get down onto the platform because of these two.” He pointed out a set of twins on one of the security monitors. “They have some kind of laser beams that come out of their fingers. We’re not sure how our shields will hold against them. We’re going to cut the lights and head in with night vision.

“Down the tunnel about twenty yards, there’s a railcar that was being repaired before it went missing. The cameras are off now, but that’s where the they were filming from.” The SWAT leader pointed to a tall, broad-shouldered girl back on other monitor. Seemingly for the hell of it, she picked up a bolted bench from the ground and threw it into the opposite wall. We could hear the dull crash that accompanied it. “Strong girl. We think that she dragged the car there.”  
  
“Okay,” Bobby said to himself, formulating his own plan. “Cut the power, but give us the night vision. Colossus, Jubilee, and Hellion – you deal with them. Wait. There’re five. All right. Surge, you know what they can do. You up for it?”  
  
Surge rubbed her hands together, causing a few sparks. “Oh yeah.”  
  
“Good. Tattoo, I need you to come with me and Shadowcat. And Rogue.”  
  
Even with Bobby, I was an afterthought. Determined to be as useful as possible, I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and placed the night vision goggles over my eyes securely. Peter suited up to lead the way into the lightless subway. My eyes swept the green-tinged platform but didn’t spot anyone. The Coalition members were hiding.

I followed Bobby, Kitty, and Tattoo further into the tunnel while the others set up for the attack. We knew it was only a matter of time before Cypher had the lights back on. Bobby covered our backs by sealing us in the tunnel with an ice wall and taking out the cameras as we went, anticipating that Cypher had hacked into them as well.  
  
While we walked, Bobby whispered his plan. “Rogue and I’ll distract them. Kitty, you go around the other side and phase in with Tattoo.”  
  
“And I’ll use my mojo on them,” Tattoo agreed.  
  
“What mojo?” I asked.  
  
“Don’t you know I’m like a psychedelic butterfly?” Tattoo scoffed.  
  
“Psychedel-a-what?”  
  
Just then, another earthquake sent us careening to our knees.  
  
Tattoo said, “Fiver again.”  
  
“Oh, God. We’re going to get crushed,” Kitty moaned.  
  
“Underground is the safest place to be,” Tattoo assured her. “The metro was built to withstand a seven-point-five. And seven-point-five, girlie, is bad. Especially in a crowded city in the middle of the day.”  
  
“So seven-point-five is probably what they’re going for,” I stated.  
  
“Probably,” Bobby agreed. Heedless of his bare knees and the violently shaking ground, he began to crawl toward the subway car. For once I was glad to be in gloves and pants despite the oppressive heat.  
  
After the shaking subsided, Kitty and Tattoo darted to the other side of the car. Bobby and I crouched by the door, watching the flashlights move around inside. Bobby was mouthing the count when the dim track lights flickered on.

We threw off our goggles and then started the count again. On three, I opened the door. Reaching around me, Bobby sent in a blast of ice. I pushed Bobby aside and went in first, getting the full force of Mercury’s silvery punch. It definitely hurt, but my ruptured spleen quickly healed.  
  
Before anyone else could attack, Tattoo and Kitty phased into the car. With a wave of the swirling pictures on Tattoo’s arm, Ricochet, Mercury, Cypher, and Richter began to sway dizzily on their feet, faraway gleams in their eyes. They poked at the air, babbling something about pretty colors and shapes.  
  
“Are they…stoned?” I wondered aloud.  
  
“Groovy, huh?” Tattoo winked.  
  
Stretched out across the seat, Cypher began to make guitar noises that poorly simulated the opening of Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze.” This, of course, made his cohorts laugh uncontrollably. The harder Richter laughed, the harder the ground began to shake.  
  
“Shit,” Tattoo said, falling onto a seat.  
  
“Make him stop,” Kitty demanded of Bobby from the floor.  
  
Using the handrails for support, I made my over to the uproarious Richter. I shed my gloves and pressed my hands on either side of his face, drawing directly from his life force. He was unconscious in a matter of seconds, but the quaking continued. The damage had been done; the fault had been stimulated to life.  
  
Struggling to file Richter away in my brain and to figure out how to stop the earthquake at the same time, I came across the glitch in Richter’s powers. “He can’t stop earthquakes,” I murmured, not wanting it to be true.

Kitty turned around one of Cypher’s laptops so that she could use it from the floor. “Man, this guy is good,” she noted to herself. “He even hacked into the – Oh, God. We’re too late. The California Geological Survey is predicting the next quake will be a six-point-six to a seven-point-o.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Bobby asked, even though we all knew.  
  
Wretchedly, Tattoo answered certainly, “People are gonna die.”

The four of us exchanged horror-struck, guilt-ridden looks, accompanied by the maniacal sound of Ricochet, Stingray, and Cypher giggling.

Finally, the shaking stopped again.

Bobby ordered sharply, “You three stay here and make sure they don’t go anywhere. I’m going to check on the rest of the team.”

There was nothing we could do. Richter couldn’t stop earthquakes and neither could we. We could only worry. Tattoo was sitting with her knees drawn up, chewing distractedly on her long nails. She was probably thinking about her family or friends who lived in the city. Would they be one of the ones to lose their homes or, worse, their lives? Kitty was crying silently. I would’ve joined her, but I hadn’t cried in so long – not even after Logan left – that I thought my body had forgotten how.

Without warning, the door closest to me was ripped off its hinges. The Amazon-looking girl that I’d seen on the monitor tossed the door behind her and climbed inside, her eyes immediately drawn to Ricochet’s dazed form.

Still gloveless, I threw myself at her, managing to grab her by the elbows. I tried to knock her out, but the girl who called herself Warbird fought it. Drawing from her powers, I felt her considerable strength flow into me.  
  
Another earthquake built under our feet, knocking us out of the car and onto the rails. Unfazed by the violent back-and-forth motion of the ground, she took me by the back of the head and crashed my face into the steel track twice.

Crying out in pain and anger, I pushed up against her and flipped her onto her back. She watched, somewhat impressed, as the huge cut on my forehead healed itself. Rising to her feet with a gravity-defying grace, she didn’t stop there. She floated about three feet off the ground, no longer hindered by the earthquake. Blood pounding, I raised myself to her level.

“You bitch,” Warbird laughed. “You stole my powers.”  
  
Not even close to being in the mood for banter, I attacked. We met each other blow for blow, but every time I landed one on her, she grew weaker from the poison in my skin.

I drew from her power and her life force equally, knowing that she wasn’t going to give up until she was cataleptic. The more her life force invaded my body, the more vicious I became. I didn’t just want to win the fight anymore. I wanted everything she had.

Pressing her down onto the track, my hands clamped hard around her throat. The part of me that desperately tried to let go was buried under the onslaught of power. It felt like she was pushing her life into me. It filled me completely, even as it drained her.

Unable to stop myself, I kept drinking it in until there was nothing left.  
  
Silence rang in my ears. Everything was still, even the walls. Warbird’s dull gray eyes stared up at me.  
  
With a sharp scream, I skittered backwards, away from her.  
  
“Rogue. Rogue, are you okay?” Kitty’s concerned voice got closer as she rushed to my side.  
  
“Oh, God. Oh, God. I killed her. I killed her. Oh, God.”  
  
Kitty’s arms encircled me awkwardly. “It was self-defense. It’s okay. It’s over now. The earthquake’s over. The Geo Survey says aftershocks’ll be mild.”  
  
But I, weak from stolen power, couldn’t have agreed less.

 

 


	10. Gimme Shelter

 

I remember very little about the month following our unhappy return from LA. I do know, however, that the big quake ended up being a six-point-six, that the damages exceeded sixty billion dollars, and that the death toll was sixty-three people. It could’ve been worse, of course. The city wasn’t entirely decimated, after all. But it was a big enough disaster to send the conservatives in Congress into frenzy.

Within a matter of days, the Mutant Registration Act was put on President McKenna’s desk. In keeping with his reputation as a fence-sitter, he refused to acknowledge it. Ten congressional days later, it was made into a law without his signature. Thus, like the obvious mutants, the rest of us no longer had anonymity as a defense. It was a scary prospect, and I had enough to be scared of as it was.  
  
Because I was going crazy.  
  
At first, it was just mood swings. Really bitchy mood swings. Bobby tried to talk to me again, but I wasn’t having any of it. All I wanted to do was fight. I couldn’t control the words that came out of my mouth, and then I couldn’t control my whole body. By the time I figured out that I was possessed by Warbird, alias of Carol Danvers, I was too far gone to care. The Professor would’ve known if he had been there, but he was needed in Washington.  
  
Under Warbird’s influence, I stole anything valuable I could get my hands on, pawned it all, and then took off for New York City to have myself a good old time.

I hooked up with the Brotherhood quickly, wanting more than anything to be destructive. They were understandably wary of me, but decided to keep my presence in New York top secret. They put the word out that I was headed West to break Warbird’s old friends out of jail.

We laughed ourselves into a tizzy when we found out “the pathetic little X-Kids” had actually taken the bait. “Without Daddy X around,” they guffawed, “the goddamned peacenik fucks couldn’t find their own assholes,” let alone someone under the protection of the Brotherhood.

A few days after I’d gotten in really good with the New York branch, John flew in town to investigate my legitimacy and keep an eye on me. It didn’t take him long to realize that I was not a spy or myself. That, of course, didn’t stop him from letting me put the moves on him.  
  
Warbird loved to be bad, and I completely assimilated that trait. Helping the Brotherhood make pipe bombs and terrorize anti-mutant, neo-Nazi shitheads was all kinds of fun, but imposing teasing sexual advances on unsuspecting older men, bumbling teenage boys, or even the occasional female gave me the ultimate sadistic kick. With John it was different, though.

I – the real me – had always thought of John platonically. I knew he was good-looking in a smirky kind of way, but our personalities had never meshed well. However, with my new Warbird-inspired personality in place, I saw him as a kindred soul.

Forget Logan. He was lost in the jungle halfway around the world and playing for the other team. Forget Ricochet. No way I was going to waste money to fly my ass out to California just for a conjugal visit once a month, if that. He’d never been that great of a boyfriend, anyway. Fuck both of them.

John – sizzling hot, acerbically sarcastic, wonderful St. John Allerdyce – was in the flesh right in front of me. I wanted him, so I was fucking well going to get creative.  
  
One afternoon about two or three weeks after I’d first come to New York, I went to an S&M shop and I bought that dominatrix outfit and deluxe box of condoms.

I didn’t start feeling queasy about it until we were in John’s room, in his bed. I wasn’t in the leather outfit yet. I was going to let him watch me put it on, preferably while he begged.

God, I wanted to hear him beg. I knew from Warbird’s memories that it was the ultimate rush of power. John may have thought he was in control, but I was calling the shots. All I had to do was straddle his thighs in my short little skirt, and he was mine.

I was grinding against him and kissing him through a sheer, lightweight scarf, and he was practically whimpering, when I got my first inklings of guilt. I paused for a second, confused. Guilt was an emotion I could barely remember, and could certainly do without. I quickly pushed it aside in favor of lust. I’d missed lust.  
  
“Rogue, ah, fuck,” John moaned as I slowed my hip movements.  
  
“Warbird,” I corrected, trailing one gloved finger down the side of his face. “Rogue’s dead.”  
  
John didn’t hear me. He put his hands on my waist to increase the pressure on his lap. His hands slipped under my shirt, and came in contact with my bare skin for just a moment. The guilt flared, then disappeared. I leaned over him, lips inches from his.  
  
“Tsk, tsk. Don’t touch,” I smirked. Nipping at his lips, I drew a little more energy from him. There was guilt there, too, but it was his guilt.

John wasn’t thinking totally of me. He was thinking of the other Rogue. That kind of pissed me off.

Holding his head down, I forced my tongue into his mouth and gave him a real kiss. “That hurt?” I asked breathlessly as I pulled back, knowing it had.  
  
John’s eyes were glazed and his mouth hanging open slightly. Gaining his strength back, he clamped his hands on my gloved elbows. “What the hell did you do that for?”  
  
With my superior strength, I easily maneuvered his hands over his head and into a locked position. I leaned over and licked his jaw. I kissed my way down his neck and then started sucking.  
  
John made guttural noises as I drew more energy. I was ruining our night, I knew, but the power was eclipsing my lust, if not fueling it. Distinctly, I felt John frantically think that whoever I was, I was one crazy bitch.  
  
I bit him, hard, then jerked back “You fucking bastard. All you want is this body. You fucking don’t even like me.”  
  
“Get off of me,” John wheezed.  
  
“Or you’ll do what, exactly? Sorry, Johnny-boy. No lighter, no fire. I’m afraid you’re helpless. Hey, I wonder,” I asked coyly, bringing one hand down to undo the button on his jeans. “What do you think would happen if I just fucked you outright? Would it kill you? Should we find out?”  
  
The guilty feeling came back in abundance. Suddenly, there was a bitter tightness in my chest. I couldn’t stand myself. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. For that moment, I was me again. I looked down at John and saw the fear and disgust in his eyes. I dropped his wrists.  
  
John brought up his knee to my back, pitching me sideways off the bed. The action brought Warbird out again, but the bitterness stayed.

Wiping off my toxic saliva and standing shakily on the other side of the bed, John flicked open his lighter. Smirking, I used the power I’d drawn from him to flare the flame back into his face. He staggered back half a step but soon got his baring back. He sent a ball of fire right at me.

Unlike John, the flames burned me. But also unlike John, I enjoyed the pain and I could heal.  
  
“What now?” I challenged.  
  
“Rogue,” John said in a calculated beseeching voice, “Rogue, I know you’re in there somewhere. I saw you. Talk to me, Rogue.”  
  
Hackles raised, I replied curtly, “I told you. Rogue is dead.”  
  
“Come on, Rogue. I know this isn’t you. You’re a good guy, remember? You gotta fight whatever the hell this is. You can do it.”  
  
No, no, no. I didn’t want to fight. I had to fight, it was the only way, but I didn’t want to. Why was he doing this to me?

“Oh, right. Now you want Rogue back. Now that you’re not wanting to get fucked! You son of a bitch. You son of a fucking – goddamned – bitch!”

I was crying now, well on my way toward sobs. “You didn’t say a word until I hurt you. You were gonna let me – You let me hurt – ”

I fell to my knees, Rogue once more. I buried my face in the bed sheets, consumed by anguish. “I hate you. I – f-fucking – hate – you, John. I h-hate you. Oh, God. I hate myself.” I waited for Warbird to take over again. I wanted her to. I didn’t want to have to deal with this guilt. I didn’t want to be good anymore. I just wanted to be left alone.  
  
Vision blurred by tears, I looked up just in time to see John lift a lamp over his head and strike it down over mine. My already darkened world went totally black.


	11. Back in Black

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying flat on my back in a bed in the med lab. My entire body was twitching.  
  
The Professor placed his hand on the top of my head to calm me down. “It’s all right, Rogue. Don’t be alarmed. It’s your evening muscle stimulation. There you go. It’s off now.”

I couldn’t help flinching a little as Dr. McCoy reached over and carefully pealed the sticky circular patches off my skin. He stepped back and smiled down at me.

Finding my voice hoarse, I managed to rasp, “What’s going on?”

“Let’s get you some water, hm?” The Professor pushed a button on my bed that lifted me into a sitting position. Dr. McCoy handed me a bottle of water. I drank it gratefully.

I used the time to search my foggy mind for the answer to the question I’d posed. Eventually, I vaguely remembered what had happened with Warbird, though it seemed to me more like what she did, not what I did.

“How’d I get here,” I wanted to know, my voice stronger now.  
  
“John brought you back. And, no, I could not talk him into staying, hard as I tried. It was either imprison him or let him go. Considering all the trouble he went to for you, I chose to let him go.”  
  
Accepting that and not really recalling what had almost happened between us, I asked the Professor, “Warbird, is she gone?”  
  
“She’s no longer a threat,” he assured me.  
  
“We did a sort of scientific exorcism,” Dr. McCoy put in.  
  
The Professor continued, “You see, Rogue, you’ve been away from us for quite awhile. Seven months.”  
  
Ridiculously enough, I grew hopeful. A lot can happen in seven months. “Is Logan…”  
  
“Not yet. But you shouldn’t worry.”  
  
As if saying that would stop me. I dropped the subject, though, and went back to more relevant questions. “I’ve been in a coma for all that time?” I didn’t feel like I had been. In fact, except for a sore throat and a little light sensitivity, I felt fine. Completely lucid.  
  
“‘Coma’ isn’t the right term. There was nothing wrong with you physically. Just as you were trapped inside your mind when Warbird was in control of your body, you’ve been trapped inside the memories of the people you’ve absorbed life force from. Their individual psyches have been vying for control, while yours has been lost. But, in the end, you proved strongest.”  
  
I didn’t know about that. I was sure he had helped me. “Are they gone?”  
  
“As of a few days ago, they’re back under control.”  
  
After a moment, I asked the million dollar question. “Did I hurt anyone?”  
  
“You did nothing wrong, Rogue. You weren’t in control.”  
  
Desperately wanting that to be true, I kept my mouth shut. There was too much to be said about the situation.

The Professor understood why I chose to remain silent. “It’s late and you’ve been through quite a battle. You should get your rest. Is there anything I can get for you,” he asked before he left.  
  
“Do you think that I could talk to Kurt? Just for a little while.”  
  
Professor Xavier nodded. “I think that will help. I’ll get him for you.”  
  
I had ten minutes to stew in my own self-reproach before Kurt sat down shyly in the chair beside my bed. “It’s good to see you awake, Anna Marie.”  
  
“It’s good to be me again.”  
  
“That was a horrible thing you went through,” he said compassionately, taking my gloved hand in his. “I know how it is to be forced to do things against your will.”  
  
“But I think that I deserved it,” I confessed, unable to meet his eyes. “It was like my penance or something. Maybe she was the bad guy, but that doesn’t make me any less of a…murderer. I can say that it was self-defense, but I can’t justify it.”  
  
“You don’t have to. You’re repentant. That shows what a good person you are.”  
  
“The thing that bothers me, though, is that when she started to take over I don’t think I fought it as hard as I maybe could’ve, because I felt like I deserved it. So I – I basically let her use me. It’s all mixed up and hazy, but if she did hurt someone seriously or killed someone, then it’s my fault. So maybe it wasn’t penance at all. Maybe it was just me giving up because I felt like I didn’t deserve to play the hero. Does that make any sense?”  
  
“Ja.”  
  
“How do I deal with that?”  
  
“You learn to make peace with your mistakes. Harder than it sounds, I know. I’m afraid I’m not much of a help to you.”  
  
That wasn’t true at all. “You do so much for me. You listen to me. You take me seriously. You taught me how to try to be a better person.”  
  
Kurt leaned forward to kiss me on the top of my head. “Your complexities make me proud, but you let yourself rest now. Save the worrying for when you feel stronger. Gute Nacht mein Lamm.”  
  
“Gute Nacht. Ich liebe Dich.”  
  
That took him a by surprise. I’d never told him I loved him before. I’d been too embarrassed. Gratitude sparkled in his eyes. “Vielen Dank. Ich liebe Dich.”  
  
I slept easy after Kurt left, until I found myself having Logan’s nightmare again. I hadn’t had it since that first week we’d begun working on my control, which had been almost four years ago. Again, I experienced the nightmare as he experienced it, not as a spectator. But it was more intense than ever before. And, instead of ending in the freezing snow, it ended with fire.  
  
I sat up swiftly, wondering why I wasn’t greeted by the rising run, thatched walls, and the chirp of many hundreds of crickets. Falling back on the pillow, I tried to bring the image back, but it was gone. I rubbed the phantom ache in my knuckles while pondering the possibilities. Was the hut something Logan remembered or was it the place he was now? Unable to answer that, I resolved to ask the Professor about it in the morning and tried to go back to sleep. Despite my exhaustion, it was a difficult endeavor. Logan’s nightmare, especially the fiery ending, had unnerved me.  
  
The Professor came to visit me again early that next morning, and I wasted no time in telling him about the nightmare and what I’d felt after.  
  
He thought about it awhile, finally saying, “For obvious reasons, the two strongest psyches inside of your mind are Warbird’s and Logan’s. When Warbird finally subsided, it was Logan who came to the forefront. Some of the things that I saw in your mind whilst he was in control seemed peculiar to me. I also got the impression that I was viewing things that were happening at the present. I believe that, because Logan survived your complete absorption of his life force, the copy made of his psyche became a sort of window.”  
  
Before I could fully grasp the implications of that, the doors to the med lab opened and Dr. McCoy came through. “Sorry to interrupt, but Rogue has some very insistent well-wishers who would like to see her.”  
  
The Professor looked to me for consent. Straightening the sheets around me, I nodded. Dr. McCoy turned around and beckoned Bobby, Keller, Kitty, Jubilee, and Peter inside. Each of them carried either balloons, flowers, candy, or, in Bobby’s case, a polar bear stuffed animal. They took turns giving me hugs – Peter’s was a little awkward and Kitty’s a little emotional – and Jubilee promised me that I didn’t need to worry. “All those things you said? Forgiven and forgotten. Totally wasn’t you.”  
  
“I think she’s way ahead of us on the forgetting part,” Keller pointed out, noting my confused and discomfited expression.  
  
Jubilee brushed it off. “Even better.”  
  
They stayed with me for most of the rest of the day, feeding me mini-Snickers bars and catching me up on the latest news, important and otherwise. It was so strange. To me, it felt like I’d only been gone for the two and half weeks Warbird had taken me to New York. For them, it had been thirty weeks. That’s over two hundred days. Life had gone on, the world had kept on turning, but I’d missed it completely.  
  
It didn’t take long for my incredulousness to evolve into a gnawing in the pit of my stomach that made sure I realized how far out of the loop I really was. I did not even want to consider how much makeup work I had for my classes or how out of shape I probably was.

But, as it happened, Dr. McCoy’s electro-stimulation had kept my muscles from atrophying, so when I attempted to get up and walk around the med lab I only had to combat dizziness and stiffness from being horizontal for so long.  
  
My muscles, he informed me after he’d kicked my friends out of the med lab in a very professional manner, were actually stronger than they’d ever been because I’d retained Warbird’s powers like I had Logan’s.

Or, at least, that was the theory. Accessing the power was another matter. My attempt to levitate myself off the table was to no avail. Not even repeating, “Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” in my head helped.  
  
Clipboard in hand, Dr. McCoy peered down at me from over the top of his glasses. “What’s the problem?”  
  
“It’s not working.”  
  
“That’s probably because the mutation is trigged by adrenaline. Never mind. We’ll work on that some other time. I was going to wait to tell you with the Professor, but…Would you like to hear about the breakthrough I’ve made in my work on your skin cells?”  
  
“Breakthrough?”  
  
“Yes, breakthrough.” There was pride in his voice when he stated, “Actually, I’ve completed work on a serum that has the potential to make you one of the most powerful mutants in the world. If not the most.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know, it’s remarkable, isn’t it? It’s some of my best work. I believe that I can now alter the genetic makeup of your entire mutation so that it acts more like that of Everett Thomas’s. You know Everett, the boy they call Synch? He has a wonderful power, but it doesn’t last. In your case, however, if, over a period of time, we inject enough Power Boost into you, then you could retain any mutant’s power forever. And not by touch, either. By seeing them in action, like Everett does. In fact, I believe that altering your mutation will, by extension, alter your incapacity to touch completely.” He finished with a head-bob of excitement.  
  
“What’s the catch?”  
  
His giddiness was put on pause. He’d obviously expected me to jump at this opportunity, no questions asked. “I don’t…”  
  
“The catch. The catch that every mutant’s power has. There’s always a downside. There has to be. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be natural.”  
  
“Well, this isn’t natural. This is improving on nature. Though, I suppose you are partially correct. In any scientific experiment, there’s always a chance that something might go wrong.”  
  
“Altering my genetic makeup sounds extreme.”  
  
“Rogue, I promise you that I would take the utmost of care,” he replied sincerely.  
  
“I know you would. I just don’t think I could handle all that power. I have more than my fair share now.”  
  
Dr. McCoy respected my wishes but was undeniably upset by my lack of interest. He told me to think about it some more. I knew I wouldn’t. I hated to disappoint him since he had to have worked on this for a long, long time. Yet, in spite of the trust I had in his ability, it just seemed too risky to tempt fate. I didn’t want to be all-powerful. I didn’t even want to be team leader. I just wanted to be needed. That’s where my ambition ended.


	12. Emotional Rescue

Unfortunately, the un-ambitious facet of my personality left me with a gaping hole in my future. What did I want to do after college, besides be an X-Man? Being a teacher wouldn’t be so bad, I reasoned, though I had no idea what subject I could teach. I’d never been particularly involved in my academic experience. Going to class was just something I’d always done.

Man, I didn’t like the sound of that. It made the out-of-place feeling in my gut twitchy. Once out of the med lab, it grew even more obvious that I didn’t fit. Even the grounds weren’t the same now four months into construction on a plethora of new buildings, athletic fields, and dorms, and there were so many new faces that it was hard to walk down the familiar halls.

I wasn’t turning into self-made recluse again; I had fun whenever possible. I just didn’t have purpose anymore. Thankfully, within a six weeks of getting my clean bill of health, I received my Washington, DC assignment.

Since the Mutant Registration Act had been made into law, there was much strife in Congress as to what they should do with the information now that they had it. So far, they’d kept with the straight and narrow. Even Magneto had been surprisingly inactive about the whole thing.

The passage of the Registration Act had swelled the Brotherhood’s ranks even further, so it was likely that he’d been secretly pleased about the whole development. That theory was backed up by the fact that Mystique – still playing Senator Kelly – hadn’t done much in the way of actively pushing for pro-mutant agenda lately. The necessity of revolution was an easier sell if it was obvious that the current government was corrupt.  
  
Wisely heeding the advice of Professor Xavier, President McKenna decided that he couldn’t let that corruption happen. He finally caved and agreed to take a stance. He chose to be anti-anti-mutant legislation and pro-peaceful coexistence.

Thus, an era of hippie-like idealism began to sweep the nation’s college campuses. The Professor and the X-Men became symbols for this movement, and the much beloved President McKenna was hailed as the new John F. Kennedy.  
  
By the moderates.  
  
The hard-right conservatives, however, believed that he was selling out his own party, and the far-left liberals didn’t think he was doing enough. As President McKenna derisively pointed out to me one day, “In the game of politics, no one is ever a winner. Some of us just lose less publicly than others.”  
  
Win or lose, my Washington assignment was this: guard the President. Simple, direct, and meaningful. In the five months I worked at the White House, only one serious attempt was made on the President’s life.

It was during a press conference out on the lawn dealing with Representative Reis-Steeves’s proposed Equal Rights for Mutants Act. A deranged ex-military, anti-mutant type named Doran Ray Mills had tried to get President McKenna with a long-ranged assault rifle.

I took one bullet in the back before I literally flew the President to safety. I received a commendation for my services, which I was quite proud of.  
  
The rest of the time, it was pretty much a real, normal job. Though my true purpose was no big secret, my official title was personal assistant. Not only did I dress the part, I acted it as well. Sure, it was a glorified secretarial position and I didn’t need to be giving President McKenna his daily briefings, but I liked doing it.

It made me a part of the workforce and therefore gave me the opportunity to make friends with the entrance-level staff, who were only a couple years older than me. Having them as friends was extremely important as the gang had stayed back in Westchester and my roommate had a stick up ass.

That was Cyclops for you.  
  
Yes, I lived with Cyclops for almost half a year. It wasn’t actually as horrible as I thought it would be. He was by no means overly friendly, but he did his fair share of the housework and refrained from parenting me to death.

For the first month or so, we stayed out of each other’s way. He spent most of his time on Capitol Hill dealing with special interest groups, organizing campaigns for pro-mutant legislation, and keeping an eye on Mystique. I was in awe of his utter dedication, until I came to the realization that he put so much into it because he didn’t have anything else.

After that, Cyclops’s social life, which had never concerned me in the least, became my business. In essence, I unapologetically invited myself into his life.  
  
He tried to ignore me, of course, but our apartment wasn’t exactly monstrous. I kept wearing him down until he consented to sharing meals with me. Actual conversation came much slower. By the time that happened, I’d gotten used to calling him by his first name.

Scott was a much more laidback person than Cyclops. Scott had his flaws. For instance, his taste in music and movies was, at times, frightening. He was completely trapped in the late eighties and early nineties. Whenever he needed a lift, he watched the Back to the Future trilogy. Whenever he really missed Dr. Grey – Jean, as subsequently came to know her – he listened to either to hair metal power ballads or TLC’s album CrazySexyCool. Apparently, it had been her favorite throughout high school.  
  
When he’d first divulged that information to me, I’d been thumbing through his CD collection. Not knowing what else to say, I’d said, “Really?” To be honest, I’d always pictured her as more of the Beethoven type.  
  
“Yeah,” Scott replied, attention faraway.  
  
It was the tail end of my stay in Washington, and, though we did have the typical roommate squabbles, our rapport had never been more affable. However, the subject of Jean made me plain uncomfortable.  
  
Scott’s jaw tightened. “I know what everyone thinks about me.”  
  
I thought about playing stupid, but I’d made myself his friend. I couldn’t abandon him now. “I have absolutely zero room to judge. The only reason people – the ones who know about Logan –don’t get on my case is because they don’t think I could have anyone else.”  
  
“But isn’t that the truth? He’s the only one that you can…you can touch.”  
  
“There’re ways to get around that, if I really wanted to. I just don’t. Logan’s it.”  
  
“That’s how I feel about Jean. I don’t want anyone else.”  
  
“Then that’s your choice. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find happiness elsewhere.” I pulled out his John Cougar Mellencamp CD, saying, “A wise man once said, ‘Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.’”  
  
Scott snorted.  
  
“Sorry. I’m trying to remember Bobby’s speech to me about this. He was much more eloquent. He said something about the eighteen hundreds, and then he said something mildly offensive about man-hating PE teachers.”  
  
“Sounds profound.”  
  
“It was. Anyway, the gist of it was that I shouldn’t let my life center around my relationship with Logan because it might not work out between us.”  
  
“Jean was my life. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”  
  
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with living for the people you love, so long as you’re able to live for yourself, too. And, I mean, you’ve been doing that. You’re taking a break from teaching, you’re seeing some new things, and you’re having a fantastic time with me. What more could you want?”  
  
“Her. No offense.”  
  
“Eh,” I replied, coming around to sit on the plush reclining chair. “It’s okay. I’d drop you for Logan in a second. No offense.”  
  
Outwardly, he took it the way it had been intended, as a joke. I didn’t know what he was thinking inwardly. I’d just recognized the potential double-meaning in my words. Jean had chosen Scott in the end, but was he still sensitive about her interest in Logan?  
  
“I can still feel her. Like a presence. Is that strange?”  
  
“No. We’re mutants. There’s no such thing.”  
  
“I guess not. You’re a smart girl, Rogue. I never saw that before.”  
  
“You never liked me, did you?”  
  
As always, his eyes were hidden behind his glasses, yet I could tell they widened. “That’s not – ”  
  
“It’s okay. You can be honest. I was never all that fond of you, either.”  
  
“That’s understandable. I never gave you any credit. I didn’t hate you either, though. Stupid as it is, I did resent you a little. You brought him into our lives, and you were one of the reasons Jean liked him so much. She always said that anyone who’d do so much for a little girl he hardly knew had to be a good guy, no matter how tough he seemed. Well, of course, I knew that you weren’t a little girl and tried to convince her, and myself, that his intentions toward you weren’t honorable. She didn’t buy it. Living with a telepath…it can get frustrating.” He said it so fondly, though.

“Yeah, I can imagine. She’d always know the truth.” The platonic truth.  
  
“Oh. Sorry. I – You’re an adult now. There wouldn’t be anything wrong…” This was not a painless topic for poor Scott, but he still wanted me to feel better. “Someday Logan will see that.”

He already had. Sleeping with me was the ultimate indication of that, even if he’d felt differently in the morning. Scott didn’t know anything about the more intimate side of mine and Logan’s relationship. however. It had been embarrassing enough to share with Bobby, and then with Jubilee and Kitty.

When I’d told them, Jubilee and Kitty had actually gotten into an argument over whether or not my decision to jump in so abruptly with Logan had been the right thing to do. Jubilee had contended that Logan needed the wakeup call to get the wheels spinning, while Kitty had maintained that waiting to assess the situation fully would’ve been more to my advantage. The rational side of me knew that Kitty was right, but the maudlin side was squarely in Jubilee’s corner. A bittersweet memory is better than no memory at all.  
  
“Did it bother you how Logan…felt about Jean?” Scott wanted to know.  
  
“Hell yes it did. I loved him, so I was jealous. It bothered you, didn’t it?”  
  
“Not as much as the fact that she wanted him back.”  
  
What an awful, awful situation that must’ve been for him. He had my total sympathy. For the first time, I kind of resented Logan for putting himself between Scott and the woman he loved.

Very soothingly, I pointed out, “At least you have the satisfaction of knowing that she picked you over him.”  
  
“It was too late for me to get any satisfaction out of that. She was already gone.” He massaged his forehead. “What does it say about us, I wonder, that the people we loved, loved each other?”  
  
The way he said it didn’t really make sense, but I understood where he was coming from. “It just goes to show that they have good taste. And so do we.”  
  
“I never thought of it that way.”  
  
His expression made me think that he was going to spend the rest of the night dwelling on it. I couldn’t have that. “Hey,” I said, looking at the clock. “It’s still early, it’s Saturday night, we’re young. Wanna go get something to eat? Maybe go to a movie?”  
  
“I don’t really feel like a movie. What’s that place you’re always going to with those people from work? Ellie, Stephanie, and what’s-his-face. You know, the swing dancing place?”  
  
“You can swing dance?”  
  
“No. But I could learn.”  
  
“Well, then let’s blow this joint, hep cat.”  
  
Unsurprisingly, Scott was a rather stiff dance partner initially. Once he got a few beers in him, though, he got pretty wild. He acted like a complete and utter dork, but he was having fun so I didn’t say anything.

It was past three before I finally got him in the car. By the time we were back at the apartment, he’d fallen asleep.

Unfazed, I slung his dead weight over my shoulder and carried him to his room where I left him to sleep it off.

Heading to the kitchen, I noticed that the answering machine was flashing. I played the message while I got some milk out of the refrigerator. I almost dropped the container when I heard Logan’s voice for the first time in practically two years.  
  
“Hey, kid. It’s me. The Professor gave me your number. I’m in Thailand right now. We just made it out. We’re about to take a flight to Tokyo, but I should be back in the States in a few days. I’ll be in Washington by next Friday, that’s for sure.” There was little bit of a pause. “It’s been rough. I’ve learned some stuff about me, my past. It’s not pretty, but I guess we never thought it would be. Anyway, I’ll see you on Friday.”  
  
Friday was my twenty-second birthday. Not since I was a kid had I looked forward to a birthday so much. The anticipation of it filled my every thought.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know when Logan was going to show up, and I still had to go to work Friday morning. I dressed in my favorite dark green skirt and matching, long-sleeved silk blouse. I was about to put on a pair of sheer pantyhose when the doorbell rang.

I knew it was Logan before Scott opened the door for him. I sprinted out into the living room and gracelessly threw myself into his arms.

Who says emotional maturity has to equal emotional withholding?  
  
“Oh, kid,” Logan whispered gruffly, burying his face in my neck. I felt the desperation in his relief and happiness at our reunion. He needed me. I tightened my hold on him to let him know that I was there, no matter what. After a long while, he set me back on my feet.  
  
“I brought you presents,” he told me.  
  
I went in for another hug. “I like this one the best.”  
  
Stroking my bare cheek with the side of his thumb, he said, “Happy birthday, Rogue.”  
  
I let myself cry then, because it really was a happy birthday.


End file.
